


Wanheda Awakens

by Non_Euclidean_Feels



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Backstory, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No A.L.I.E. (The 100), Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, BAMF Clarke Griffin, Because they're far away from each other, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Clarke Griffin, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Mount Weather, Protective Clarke Griffin, Science Fiction, She's a busy Heda, Slow Burn, Tired Lexa, Wanheda Clarke Griffin, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:54:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 35
Words: 132,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24328360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Non_Euclidean_Feels/pseuds/Non_Euclidean_Feels
Summary: They lost.Clarke is left behind at Mt. Weather. Within her, Lexa’s betrayal sets defences and hardened walls ablaze. They groan and shake, until finally theyshatter, leaving only blackened ruins behind. Irrevocably changed, Clarke feels only anger andhurt.She’s a domino about to collapse. A small piece with enough rage to topple a Mountain.
Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Comments: 1347
Kudos: 1834





	1. Ch 1 - Protocol Initialization

**Author's Note:**

> **Note: I stopped watching the show after S3x07, and as this is AU at the end of season 2, expect major changes to the lore and backstory of some characters. This includes the general backstory for Grounder society and the Nightbloods. A.L.I.E does not exist.**
> 
> In this story, the Mountain is slightly bigger, housing nearly 700 people, not including the 47 Skaikru. The mountain has taken slightly different actions, and as a result not everything and everyone in the mountain are as in canon either.
> 
> Clarke will appear very OOC compared to Clarke on the show. This will be explained as the story progresses.
> 
> Feel free to reach out on either [Tumblr](https://non-euclidean-feels.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/NoEuclideanFeel) if you want to chat about this story. I'll be sure to post there if there's any ever delays to my posting schedule, as I don't like posting A/N only chapters :)
> 
> \----
> 
> “Normal speech”
> 
> _“Trigedasleng”_
> 
> _Thoughts_

_They lost._

Clarke isn’t sure how much time has passed since Lexa left her standing in front of the entrance to Mount Weather. She is not sure when she lost track of what went on around her.   
It’s silent. Silent and empty, the ground bloody and littered with grounders shot during their assault on the massive steel door. 

_They lost._

Time starts back up, and she finds herself a spectator in her own body as moves towards the reaper tunnels. She encounters no-one and it doesn’t take long before Clarke has caught up with Octavia by a metal door deep in the tunnel. As soon as Octavia spots Clarke, she starts shouting. Angry about Clarke trusting Lexa and how they sacrificed all the innocent people of TonDC to the missile while they escaped to safety.  
Finally finding herself in control of her body, Clarke immediately snaps back with a heated “I was doing the best I could!”

Octavia is just staring at her as if Clarke had personally killed everyone she cared about, hatefully spitting out “Maybe that’s not good enough.” It was laced with so much venom that Clarke physically staggered back a few steps.   
Before Clarke has a chance to respond, she is hit by the memory of Lexa walking away saying “may we meet again.” Despite the betrayal and anger Clarke can feel burning hotly, she is still able to recognize the emotions that played out on Lexa’s face. There’s fear, regret, and something that Clarke hesitates to name but looks an awful lot like affection.

**_She did it for her people, just as you would have._ **

A tear slowly trails down her face as Clarke realises she can’t hate Lexa for protecting her people. Oh she can, and does, hate the decision for what it did to herself and her people. But that’s just it, they’re not Lexa’s people. But the Mountain isn’t going to let them live in peace. As soon as Clarke’s people have been harvested, they will want to go outside. Experience the fresh air. Settle. Grow. Expand.

Dread settles deep within her as Clarke realises it will never stop as long as the Mountain is allowed to continue as it has. 

_They have to be stopped._  
**_We need to stop them._ **

A hiss emanating from the closed steel door interrupts Clarke and Octavia. Looking at each other they rush towards the cart full of broken bodies. Fox’s face just barely visible on top of the rest. They are not fast enough. Just as they manage to get halfway around the cart, Bellamy’s surprised voice cuts through the oppressive silence in the tunnel “Octavia?”

Surprise quickly morphs to worry as he sees they are alone, he urges them inside. The door has barely shut behind them before Bellamy is bombarding them with questions about the attack and what went wrong.

  
Clarke quickly explains the events leading to her and Octavia being alone in the tunnel. While it’s clear that he wants to vent about the situation, Bellamy is quickly brought back in line when Clarke points out that they still have to rescue their people.  
Shaking the anger off of him, Bellamy explains the 47 captured are locked in their dorms waiting, being taken away one by one for the bone marrow extraction. 

They set a hurried pace towards the dorm, making no attempt at stealth. The more time they waste, the less chance they have of rescuing their people. As they’re running through the massive complex, Bellamy explains that he’s been able to help Jasper and Monty out of the dorms occasionally while posing as a guard. It’s them who helped make his guard disguise work even with the surveillance employed by the Mountain.

Clarke stops after hearing a sudden noise. Looking around she doesn’t see anyone, though the niggling feeling at her neck tells her they’re being watched. The noise is repeated from above her, and looking up she sees the face of Jasper peeking at her through a vent grate.  
Jasper quickly undoes the vent and jumps down to greet them, Monty following right after. 

“They’ve taken them. They came for us all, but Monty and I managed to get away and hide in the vents.” Jasper’s voice is sharp and panicky in the small corridor. 

Monty jumps in, explaining they were being taken to Level Five, and that the level they were on had been deserted ever since. 

“We need to split up.” Clarke’s voice is strong, brooking no argument. “Jasper do you know which part of Level Five they were taken to?”

“We followed them as best we could, but with the amount of guards we didn’t want to get too close in case we many any noise.”

“Take Octavia with you, just get close.” Clarke urges “We need find where they are. Take Bellamy’s radio with you, just be careful!” Octavia looks like she wants to object and there’s a hard glint to her eyes. Eventually she nods, but Clarke dreads the argument she is sure awaits her as soon as they’re done.   
Jasper is looking between them confused, not aware of what has happened outside the mountain. He agrees to go with Octavia as he wants to find his friends, and he’s starting to get worried about Maya.   
Bellamy hands them his radio once Clarke has explained her plan to go to the command centre, to get access to their surveillance and radios.

They set off down the corridor. Octavia with a hand on her sword and ready to protect them both, with Jasper following close behind. Clarke and Bellamy follow Monty’s directions towards the command centre on Level Seven.

After walking down a corridor and gaining access to a stairwell leading to the levels below, Monty pulls them to a stop. “The area around the command centre has more cameras.” He softly points out. “From what I saw from the vents earlier, there is at least one guard on duty within the room. Possibly a few outside. 

Taking his warning seriously, they start moving more carefully. Staying to the shadows and out of sight of the cameras. Listening for any noises. 

They make it all the way up to Level Level Seven without seeing anyone. No guards. No civilians. No noise. Every empty corridor putting them more on edge.  
Walking from the stairwell on Level Seven down one of the last corridors, an inaudible but agitated voice drifts down towards them. They immediately stop, but it quickly becomes clear that the voice is not moving towards them, rather staying where it is. Clarke slowly pulls Bellamy and Monty along with her, as they creep closer.

“How am I supposed to test the serum if we have no savages left?” the angry voice shouts at someone.

Monty pales, recognizing the voice as Dr. Tsing. Looking at Bellamy he whispers “how did she survive the radiation leak?”.

“Calm down Dr. Tsing.” A male voice responds. “Once the extraction process is done, we can go outside.”

“I thought you disagreed with your son about extracting marrow from the kids?”

“I disagreed with his rush, not the end result. I want to go outside as much as you do.”

“We need to screen their blood Mr. President.” Dr. Tsing implores, “I’ve just used the last sample we had left from the boy. I need a replacement.”

“And you will. Once we get outside, you can harvest as many as you want.”

**_Monsters._ **  
_We have to stop them._

Her fear confirmed, Clarke gestures to the others to follow her. They inch closer to the doorway. Stopping to draw her pistol, she notices Bellamy doing the same. She nods and holds up her hand, counting down with her fingers.

“Thank you Mr. President.”

Clarke’s hand drops. Her and Bellamy surge forward into the room, training their guns on Dr. Tsing and Dante Wallace. 

Anger. She would have helped these people if they had only asked. Instead they kidnap people, experimenting on them against their will. They have to be stopped.

“This stops now. You’re not going to be extracting any more from my friends.” Clarke erupts in anger, seeing the surprised but unconcerned faces of Tsing and Wallace. “You’re coming with us.”

“Clarke, you can’t stop this. My people need the treatment to survive.”

_He’s insane._  
**_He has tasted power. He will not let it go._ **

With a tone as scatching as possible, Clarke responds “And my people will not survive your treatment.”

“Now move, or you won’t survive my treatment.”

With two guns pointed at them, the president and Dr. Tsing reluctantly move into the corridor. Monty quickly continuing down the path to the control centre.

The walk from the President’s Office to the Command centre isn’t far, but Clarke is on high alert. She can see Monty shaking. He clearly knows this won’t end without blood being shed. Clarke just hopes it won’t be theirs.

Their prisoners make no attempts to get away. Make no attempt at talking. They’re walking with their heads held high, conviction burning hot in their eyes. 

They make it to the command centre, and just like on the way down, there are no guards.

Everyone else must have evacuated to Level Five.

Grabbing his stolen keycard, Bellamy looks away from Dr. Tsing and steps forward to hand it to Monty. Clarke having her gun aimed squarely at Dante Wallace, notices movement from Dr. Tsing in her peripheral vision. 

She has no time to react.

As soon as Bellamy changed his attention to Monty and the keycard, Dr. Tsing started turning towards Clarke. She reached into her jacket, and pulled a mean gun-like syringe out. The large vial full of a shimmering silver and black liquid.

In a practiced smooth motion, she presses the mouth of the syringe flush with Clarke’s neck. Clarke’s eyes widen. 

Dr. Tsing pulls the trigger, and the plunger moves quickly.

Clarke feels an immediate burning in her neck from multiple needles piercing her at once. The feeling spreads as the liquid enters her.  
Overcoming her shock, she changes the grip on her gun and whips it around. Dr. Tsing crumbles immediately, unconscious from the hard hit to her temple.

_Focus Clarke._

Pulling her gun back on Dante Wallace, she peers down at Dr. Tsing, seeing the empty syringe gun on the floor. A few drops of silver and black liquid falling from it to the ground. The burning in her neck slowly spreading to her head. Her shoulders. Down her arms. 

_Fuck. That can’t be good._

Having heard the commotion behind him, Monty quickly turns and takes in the scene before him.

Clarke is standing with her gun pointing at Dante Wallace. Dr. Tsing lying unconscious at her feet. A weird black and silver liquid is trailing from Clarke’s neck. 

“Clarke? Are you ok? What happened?” He knows he sounds a little frantic, but whatever that liquid is, it can’t be good.

Kicking at Dr. Tsing, Clarke hisses in pain “She injected me with something, but I’ll be fine. Let’s get inside so we can get our people back.”   
  
——————

The burning has spread to most of her body now. It’s painful, and she’s sure it will only get worse. Still, Clarke pushes through it. She has to help Monty and Bellamy get their people back. She can worry about herself later.

_Fuck it hurts though._

“Bellamy you take the President. Monty get ready to unlock the door.” Steeling herself, she knows what she might have to do to the guard inside. She moves up to the door, Monty beside her. Nodding, he unlocks the door.

It opens slowly with the telltale hiss of air of a hermetically sealed door. As soon as she is able, the points her gun at the opening, and shouts “Drop your weapons or the President dies!”.  
The sound of a metallic object hitting the concrete floor reaches her ears. She moves into the doorway, gun trained at the clearly groggy lone guard. Must have been sleeping on the job. 

Happy not to have had to kill him, she moves towards the guard and quickly knocks him out with the butt of her gun. “Monty, find something to bind him with. Bellamy bring in the President.”

As soon as Bellamy shoves Dante Wallace through the doorway, Clarke has her gun trained on him. “Sit down and be quiet.” She harshly commands.

“Bellamy, we’re going to need Dr. Tsing in here as well, in case anyone walks by outside.”

Quickly understanding, Bellamy heads back out, and returns dragging the unconscious doctor by the shoulders. He drops her in the corner. The door is quickly closed, and the manual lock engaged. 

Looking around, Clarke sees that Monty has already bound the guard by the wall, and is now sitting in his chair in front of the monitors of the command centre. Monty quickly makes himself familiar with the controls, and brings up the surveillance system when prompted by Clarke.

Immediately, they’re bombarded with images of their people being harvested for their bone marrow. It’s an assembly line process, and already she can see at least three bodies in the corner of whatever room they’re in.

**_Monsters._ **

“Monty. I need you to get me access to their intercom.” Clarke is going numb. The burning feeling in her body has faded a little as her anger has built. But seeing her people being harvested worthless crop has shaken her to the core. The anger and burning both giving way to a full-body numbness. 

Monty nods to the microphone beside him. It’s ready. As she grabs the microphone, Monty flicks the switch to broadcast across the entire compound. 

**“This is Clarke Griffin. I have the President. If the senseless murder of my people doesn’t stop immediately, I will kill him.”**

Shutting off the microphone, she asks Monty if he can broadcast video. He looks like he’s seeing her for the first time, but eventually nods. Bellamy is in the background, keeping an eye on Dante Wallace, whose countenance has soured at the threat to his life.

“I need a camera on the President Monty.” He simply nods, knowing this will not be pretty.

Seeing her people still being drilled into, she motions for Monty to start the broadcast again.

——————

All over the compound, screens are turning on, showing the people of Mount Weather their president in a chair. The haunting voice of Clarke Griffin begins to sound through the halls again. 

**“I gave you a warning. You decided not to heed it. Release my people, or you will all die.”**

On screen, Clarke is seen moving into the frame. He gun raising. A hardened look on her face. Black and silver liquid on her neck. 

A flash on the screen is followed by the echoing bark of a gun. Their president jerks back with a neat hole between his eyes, blood and brain matter spraying out behind him. 

**“You have five minutes to release my people.”**

One by one, the screens flicker out, and panicked voices are heard throughout.

——————

Her only goal is to stop this senseless violence.

_No matter what it takes._

**_Good._ **

**_Their souls will burn._ **

——————

It hadn’t taken long to get back to camp. The army marching through the lush forest with a single-minded focus. Get their people to safety.

Her army had settled back in, but a restless feeling permeated the air. The feeling is hot and heavy. It only makes Lexa’s worries more pronounced.

She had known it might come to this. That it might come to sacrificing the Skai people. She might have taken the deal, but she’s not stupid. Knows. Knows the Maunon will not stop.

This is nothing more than a ceasefire. Both sides gaining a respite, only to return stronger. Lexa with a larger, more focused army— the Maunon being able to breathe the outside air.

This does nothing to lift her mood. She is Heda, host of the Spirit of the Commander. Yet, she knows that for all her power and knowledge, the fight to come will be brutal. It will be bloody. Many will die. 

_**Ai leik Heda.** _

She knows. So she prepares.

“Bring me Indra.” She commands one of the guards by her tent. Entering, she unbuckles her sheathed sword. Storing it with her other weapons beside the bedroll. 

She has barely made it to the throne when Indra asks for permission to enter. 

_She was prepared to speak with me._

“Enter!” 

Indra strides into the tent, securing the tent flap as she does so. She wears a disapproving frown and appears ready to question Lexa’s decision to retreat from the Maun-de.  
“Heda. They will attack us.” Indra’s voice is convinced steel, though with an undercurrent of worry. She would know how dangerous the Maunon could be of course.

“I’m aware Indra. They will not honour the deal.” 

“Then why the retreat Heda?”

“They were prepared to execute over 400 of our people. People weakened by malnutrition. People who has been tortured. People whose very lifeblood has been stolen from them.” A weary sigh escapes Lexa’s lips. She’s tired, but there’s no time to rest.

She continues: “They would have killed them all. They would have killed more of us outside.”

“But Heda-” Indra’s outburst is cut short by Lexa “We would have won. But we would have lost too many.”

“Tell me Indra, how would you defend Trikru if we attacked? We have already lost 300 of our warriors to the Skaikru’s ring of fire. We would lose more people in the assault on the Maunon. And then the loss of 400 people held prisoner.” 

“Heda, I..” 

“We would be crippled come winter.” Seeing Indra is about to interrupt again, Lexa holds up her hand. “Indra, we are not giving up. We will prepare. The recovered people will be sent to Polis to recover.”

“Our defenses will be bolstered. We will split the army into smaller groups to watch the entrances to the Maunon. They cannot be allowed to leave.” Catching her breath, Lexa explains her reasoning: “Clarke kom Skaikru informed me the Maunon cannot use their Tek and Missiles if they do not have people watching the location. The acid fog is destroyed.”

“I agree Heda, we cannot allow them to set foot on the ground.” Adopting a worried mien, Indra asks: “What will you do about Skaikru? Surely they will see the retreat as a betrayal to the alliance?”

“We will leave Skaikru alone. Send scouts to ensure they do not plan retaliation.”

**Keep an eye on the Skaiprisa. She plays an important role.**

“Indra, I want your best scout sent to the Maunon. They are to keep watch over Clarke Kom Skaikru. Inform the scout that they must bring her to me once it is safe to do so. They must not be seen by the Maunon.”

“Heda, I mean no disrespect, but what is so important about the Skai girl?”

“She is the leader of the Skaikru. It will be easier if she agrees with our plans.” Hesitating, Lexa gives a bit more information: “The Spirit of the Commander has taken an interest in her. This is not to leave this tent Indra.”

It is rare to see Indra look shocked, and indeed the emotion disappears from her face an instant later. 

“I will send the scouts at once Heda.” Indra turns to leave the tent, throwing one last look at Lexa as she undoes the tent flap and walks out. 

——————

“Clarke, what have you done?” Bellamy’s shocked voice reaches her ears. 

“I did what I had to Bellamy. I bear it so they don’t have to. So you don’t have to.” 

Clarke has a steadying hand on Monty’s shoulder. Hopefully keeping him grounded.

Presented with the view on the monitors. Hundreds of people burning alive from radiation, she’s not sure her hand is much help, if at all.

Movement on one of the monitors catches their attention. Their people are still alive. Immediately, they kick into gear, Bellamy heading up to help them out of their restraints and out of locked rooms.  
Monty follows slowly, lingering to stand with Clarke for a moment. She catches his eye as if to reassure him she will be ok, and he leaves to help Bellamy. 

Clarke stares at the screens, strangely satisfied with herself. Her mind empty of the regret she thought she would have.

_**They got what they deserve. Their souls do not deserve to move on.** _

She is about to follow after Monty and Bellamy to help their people, when a noise catches her ear. She stops in her tracks and turns towards Dr. Tsing. 

A very much alive Dr. Tsing. A Dr. Tsing who has her friends bone marrow keeping her alive. 

Heat, flaring through her entire body, coiling her like a spring ready for action. However, no action meets her. Instead Dr. Tsing opens her eyes. Immediately widening and taking on the most frightened expression Clarke has ever seen. 

“How are you alive? The serum should have killed you.” Dr. Tsing gasps. 

Deciding it’s time to get some answers, Clarke grabs the syringe she was injected with. Striding to where Dr. Tsing is still laying on the ground, she ponders for a second.

Deeming the command centre an inappropriate location for this discussion, she quickly knocks the doctor out again. Setting off towards the Medical section, dragging the unconscious body of Dr. Tsing behind her. She better have some answers.

_Fuck that burns._

——————

_Maunon_ : Term for the population of the mountain  
_Maun-de_ : The physical mountain itself  
_Ai leik Heda_ : I am the Commander


	2. Ch 2 - Initialization Complete. Awaiting Activation..

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke interrogates Dr. Tsing and helps her people leave the Mountain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: This chapter contains somewhat detailed descriptions of torture and gore.

Octavia and Jasper are hiding in the vents. It’s a cramped, awful, space to be in. Octavia handles it well, even with the unpleasant memories from most of her life pressing in on either side. She had hoped to never be in another space like this. Jasper notices the cramped environment, but pushes the cloying feeling aside. Too frantic with worry for Maya and his friends.

Slowly they make their way down the metal vent, mindful of any noise they make. Occasionally a noise echoes through. A whispered word. The sound of a guard talking below them. Screaming. The slow squeal of leather on metal when Octavia’s sheathed sword brushes against the vent.

Breathing a little heavier, they slide down the maintenance ramp to the level below them. They’ve made it.

**Level Five.**

From here, there is only one way forward. Follow the guards.

Despite the slow pace, they make good time. Finding the guards isn’t difficult with the amount of noise they’re making. Complaints too. Who knew people that lived underground were afraid of the dark?

With the turbines of the dam out of commission, only emergency power remains. Most of the other levels had been submerged entirely in darkness.

The maintenance vents and main corridors lit sparingly with ancient Emergency Lights. While this makes it harder to navigate, it also makes Octavia and Jaspers life easier. Less light means less chance of their movement being noticed.

The occasional screaming is growing stronger. Nearer. Sharing a look, they decide to increase their pace a little.

A crackle of static rings out, steadying into a tone reminiscent of a radio broadcast. The pop of a microphone being turned on, and then

**“This is Clarke Griffin. I have the President. If the senseless murder of my people doesn’t stop immediately, I will kill him.”**

The following silence is deafening. Swallowing up all sound. No more screams. No rustling from moving through vents. Just silence. Then, beginning with Octavia’s whispered “fuck”, chaos breaks out.

Angry shouts rise up all around. Whimpering and screams begin again. Above it all, a male voice bellows through the vents  **“She’s bluffing!”** .

Knowing time is running out, Octavia and Jasper pick up their pace. Moving as swiftly as possible under the cover of the fresh noise, they reach an intersection. To one side, inaudible but clearly enraged voices sound. To the other, an occasional buzzing sound, overlaid by soul-wrenching screams.

Not risking talking, Jasper gestures to himself, and then down the vent to the right. Towards the screaming. Pointing at Octavia, he nods to the left vent. She nods. They split up, Jasper still carrying the radio.

——————

Jasper sets a brisk pace down the vent. As he moves, he finds a section of well-lit vent, grates in the side providing plenty of lighting. Crawling closer, he looks down through the grates.

The cavernous mess hall. Full of people. People sitting calmly, waiting. Some wince as screams stream in through the vents in the walls and ceiling.

There is no outrage here. No compassion. He sees none of his friends. He doesn’t see Maya. He doesn’t see any of the resistance that helped them.

Hundreds and hundreds of people scattered throughout the massive hall waiting for all this unpleasant business to be over. Waiting for his people to be drilled and tortured. Waiting for their bone marrow.

_ I trusted these people. _

Chilled to the bone, Jasper cautiously begins moving past the well-lit grates, but is stopped dead when a hiss and crackle of static rings out of the speakers again. Moving to safely be able to look out, Jasper stares back down into the mess hall.

The hushed discussions below all die out as a wall of screens at the far end of the mess hall flicker to life.

_ President Wallace is seated in a chair. Face pulled into an uncomfortable mask, frown firmly etched above his eyes. He stares at something just off the camera. _

_ The haunting voice of Clarke Griffin seeps out of the speakers, rolling throughout the hall. Any lingering whispers are halted when her words come through. _

**_“I gave you a warning. You decided not to heed it. Release my people, or you will all die.”_ **

_ Clarke walks into the frame. Her blonde hair flowing down over one side of her neck. Black and silver liquid trickling from a wound on the other side. _

_ As she turns, her face becomes visible. _

_ Pure roiling hatred. Conviction. Eyes burning. _

_ Slowly, as if in slow motion, she raises her gun. A mass intake of breaths as the gun is aimed firmly at President Wallace. _

_ The screen flashes bright white. The bark of a gun roars through the speakers. Several screams can be heard. _

_ The president is jerked back. A neat hole formed between his eyes, blood and brain matter spraying behind him. Disbelief permanently engraved on his face. _

_ Clarke turns and walks towards the camera, taking up the entire frame. Her expression never faltered. _

**_“You have five minutes to release my people.”_ **

One by one, the screens flicker out. Voices beginning to rise in panicked shouts, and high-pitch screams.

——————

Jasper is stunned. Never thought Clarke would be capable of such cold-blooded murder. Nevertheless, he knows they are on borrowed time. He rushes through the tunnels, heedless of any noise he might make. It takes him less than a minute.

Finally. Finally, he makes it to the dorms. The extraction is well underway, as evidenced by the screams he’s been hearing.

Scanning the room, he sees their people, though some have clearly already succumbed to their wounds.

Desperately searching the room again, he still spots no sign of Maya or the resistance.

Seeing movement in the corner, he spots Emerson readying his weapons. Looking around for surveillance, thinking Clarke must have seen it already, he notices the corner is absent from any cameras. It’s a blind spot.

Hearing Cage call out “GO, kill them all!” to Emerson, Jasper knows he needs to take a risk. Standing back from the grate, he takes out the radio. Hunching over himself, he holds the radio so as to make as little noise as possible.

“Clarke. This is Jasper. Don’t respond, they might hear. Cage just sent Emerson to you, armed to the teeth with weapons. He has explosives, Clarke!” There is no response. Jasper sighs in relief that he hasn’t been spotted. Then the sirens start blaring.

The radiation alarm.

——————

Octavia is traveling through the vent network in the opposite direction of Jasper. The current stretch of vent is dark. No grates and only one emergency light in the distance. Occasionally a word will be audible, and so far she’s heard Clarke mentioned multiple times, and something that sounded like “needs to be stopped.”

From Clarke’s map, she remembers this stretch of vent. It’s void of grates due to running alongside the underside of the quarantine ward, down to a few administrative offices.

Clarke’s video broadcast sounds from behind her, coming in from grates in the Mess Hall. The bark of the gun startles her, unable to see the broadcast as she is. From ahead she hears a shouted expletive, then silence.

Stopping in case they hear any noise she makes, she waits for a minute. When the radiation alarm screeches out, Octavia rushes forward. Down the vent. Take the turn as fast as possible. She wriggles closer to the vent, and peers down.

Taking in the scene before her, she quickly identifies two dying soldiers from the Security Detail. Seated at a table is a woman. A very alive woman. Shackles are on the table and chair, but none are fastened to the woman. Octavia is unable to tell who it is from above, but something about the person is familiar.

The woman reaches for the restraint on the table, and begins to fasten it to herself. As she tightens the second shackle, she throws the key at the dying soldier.

A deep sigh, and then the woman is shouting for help.

Octavia barely manages to suppress her gasp, before she clamps a hand over her mouth. As silently as possible she retreats. A safe distance away, Octavia looks back confusion warring with incredulity.

“Abby?”

——————

Making the way down the corridor, Clarke spared a glance at the motionless body being dragged behind her.

_ Still out. Good. _

Coming to a stop in front of a sealed door marked as  **MEDICAL** , she releases the arms of the doctor, letting her fall unassisted to the ground. Turning back, she grabs the key-card from Dr. Tsing’s lanyard. Standing again, Clarke wonders why she’s not winded from dragging Dr. Tsing up three floors and down numerous corridors.

More questions. Still no answers.

The burning feeling is still present throughout her body. An insistent pain lancing through her, causing Clarke to wince involuntarily. Thinking of thee pain in her body only serves to remind her of the pain at the back of her neck, spiking up into her head.

_ Well float me. _

**_Focus Clarke. You need answers._ **

A metallic clang echoes as the door unlocks. A hiss follows as the seal is undone and the door slowly slides open, unveiling the secure medical wing.

Bending down to grab the limp arms of the doctor, Clarke drags her through the door. She seals it behind her, and engages the manual lock to prevent anyone with a key-card from coming in.

Taking in the room as she looks around, Clarke moves further into the medical wing, through  **DECONTAMINATION** and into the  **QUARANTINE** .

Dr. Tsing is quickly moved to a bed. Clarke straps her securely to the bed, and begins looking for the equipment she knows must be nearby. Finding a row of heartbeat monitors by the entrance, one is swiftly retrieved and connected to the doctor. A slow beeping beginning to sound throughout the room during Clarke’s search. She finds tools she needs. The drugs she needs are quickly pilfered from the locked supply closet.

Before going back to the bed, Clarke stops to think about the best approach. Nerves begin to build, threatening to break through her resolve.

A fog of calm abruptly descends upon Clarke, making her blink. Her eyes slowly opening, she finds she is once again just a passenger in her own body.

She feels and sees herself approach Dr. Tsing. Her head moves. Looking down, she sees a hand raising. Syringe full of adrenaline ready. Focus shifting to her left hand. Shock baton extended. Her finger flicks a switch. An angry crackle of electricity sounds, deafening the steady beeping of a heartbeat monitor.

**I need answers.**

——————

**_This is taking too long._ **

“I asked you about the serum, Doctor.” The honourific dripping with poison as it flows from her mouth.

“I will not ask again.”

A snap. A scream.

**_Thumb._ **

A deeper snap. A longer scream, tapering into whimpers.

**_Wrist._ **

“S-stop” she begs brokenly, voice hoarse from screaming. Her tears mixing with blood flowing from a gash on her temple. “P-please s-s-stop.”

“Then talk” the demand void of any emotion.

“I-it’s o-old. F-from before the bombs.” Gasping to catch her breath, Dr. Tsing continues: “Military. To make us stronger. We just wanted to go outside. B-but everyone died. It never worked.”

“What is it?” another demand.

“Nano-technology. Nanobots that can alter your DNA to whatever you need.” Another sobbing gasp as pain flares up from her left arm. Five broken fingers and wrist throbbing angrily. “The technology works, but it is too aggressive. The nanobots begin to duplicate immediately, and attach to as many cells as possible.” She pauses as the pain throbs once more, knowing if she doesn’t continue it will only get worse. “The problem is, the human body isn’t meant to be altered. Too much change at once, and the body would simply shut down. Anyone we tested it on would die within minutes.”

“Who did you test it on?”

Dr. Tsing grimaces, clearly not happy to answer this question. Sobbing as her right hand is firmly clenched, the thumb slowly twisted until it snaps makes her lose the last bit of resistance

“T-the s-savages!” she manages to gasp out. “W-we tried so many versions. The adults would die quickly, the kids would hang on for a minute or two longer. A pregnant woman miscarried and died when I injected her child.” She looks up into Clarke’s face, and the look of pure hatred and violence on display only makes her shaking worse.

Clarke just stays silent, staring and nodding towards the three still-intact fingers on the doctorøs hand.

Getting the point, Dr. Tsing went on: “Emerson. He came to me one day. He’d found something interesting.”

Tiring of the doctor's constant pauses, Clarke grabs another two fingers and immediately snaps them. As the doctor screams in pain, Clarke’s emotionless voice speaks up.

“You know how this is going to end. The quicker you tell me what I want, the quicker it will be over.”

“A-alright, please, no m-more”

For a second, the hum of the lights, and the frantic beeping of the heart-monitor attached to the doctor were the only sounds in the normally sterile room.

“H-he f-found a b-boy. A b-boy with b-black b-blood.”

**“Interesting..”**

——————

Lexa looks up from her writing as she hears the footsteps approaching. Having recognised Indra’s distinctive stride, she calls out to the guard before Indra has a chance to speak.

_ “Enter Indra.” _

Lexa moves to put her correspondence aside as she hears the rustle of the tent flap.

_ “One day I’ll figure out how you always know it’s me Heda.” _ Indra has always been curious how Lexa knows who approaches well before even her guards.

_ “One day, perhaps.” _ Lexa considers it for a moment. One day she might actually tell Indra the truth. Until then, however..

_ “What brings you here Indra?” _

Indra straightens at the change in tone, knowing it is not the time for too much familiarity. Despite this, Indra takes a second to compose her thoughts, knowing her Heda might take it badly.

_ “As you commanded, I sent our best scouting party to the mountain. They were informed to keep watch on the Maunon’s movements, and to look out for Klark kom Skaikru.” _

_ “I did not expect an update so soon Indra. What has happened?” _

_ “A messenger arrived from the scouting party. He rode hard Heda. I sent him to get some rest as soon as he gave his missive.” _ Taking a moment to calm her anger before continuing: _ “Heda, the Maun-de lies silent. The door remains closed. The ground remains stained in blood, our fallen warriors lay untouched.” _

_ “Heda, there was no sign of Klark kom Skaikru.” _

Years of experience is the only thing allowing Indra to see the faint whisper of emotion cross her Heda’s face. Worry. An emotion Indra hasn’t seen on Lexa for many years.

Not since Costia.

Deciding to remain silent, not sure she would sound disinterested, Lexa gestures for Indra to continue.

_ “The scouts have split up. Two remains at the mountain, while the messenger first traveled to the Skai people’s camp. Watching from a distance, he saw no sign of Klark. Remaining in the trees, he sneaked as close as possible. He overheard several conversations, and more than once someone asked about Klark’s whereabouts.” _

Feeling her heart race, Lexa gave voice to a thought she really didn’t want to be true:  _ “The Maunon have her.” _ Glad her voice didn’t waver, Lexa did the best to suppress the intense feelings she really shouldn’t be feeling. Leaning back in her throne, she looked down at Indra again.

_ “It would appear so Heda.” _

_ “You did well in bringing this to me. Let the scout have his rest, then send him back with instructions to keep up their mission at the Maun-de. Unless there is something else, you’re dismissed.” _

_ “Thank you Heda. I will bring news as soon as it arrives.” _

As Indra leaves, Lexa looks down at the paperwork needed. A heartfelt sigh leaves her at the thought of sitting in this tent any longer. Standing, she gathers up her papers. Another day of Titus waiting for his scheduled letter will do him no harm. The man could stand to learn some patience, come to think about it.

Lexa stretches, already feeling better just from standing. Striding across the tent, she grabs the sheathed sword hanging on the centre post. Once it has been securely affixed around her waist, she leaves the tent. She dimly registers her guards falling into step behind her, one on either side.

Lexa sniffs the air. The coiling sweetness and tang of sweat drifts from the training grounds, mingling with the mouth-watering smell cooking meat and herbs.

_ Good. We need to feed our rescued people. _

Now that the immediate needs of her people are taken care of, Lexa is left with an increasing feeling of helplessness. She cannot help Klark. Doesn’t even know where she is at this moment. She worries for the blonde, unable to get the memory of their shared kiss out of her mind.

The spirit is being quiet, giving no advice. Lexa decides to battle her restlessness as Anya taught her. The tang of sweat grows heavier. Clangs of sword against sword growing clearer.

Anya’s voice plays through her mind: _ “Ge smak daun, gyon op nodotaim.” (Get knocked down, get back up!) _

_ It’s time to train. _

A second later, the thought is joined by a brief memory.

——————

_ TonDC. An entire quarter in ruins. The smell of burning twisted metal. Of human flesh. Of wood. Of broken bodies and loud cries. _

_ Lexa turns her eye to look at Klark. Her hands clenched, blood flowing through her fingers from nails piercing skin. Shoulders taut. Head locked. Eyes brimming with tears yet shining with an unholy fire. _

_ The world pauses. The air stills. Sound deadens. _

_ A breath. _

**_“I want the Mountain Men dead. All of them”_ **

_ Clearly intoned. A threat. A promise. A challenge issued. _

_ Lexa knows fear. It has never felt quite like this. _

——————

She stumbles mid-stride. Eyes widening, gulping air. Tries to get her racing heart under control. She doesn’t quite succeed.

Her eyes trail without conscious thought. Finding herself staring at the lush vegetation atop the Maun-de, Lexa knows.

**Knows.**

——————

Clarke leaves the medical sector. Shaking her head in a hope to calm her racing thoughts, she gives it up as a lost cause.

_ No time to make sense of it all. Places to be. _

Having learned many interesting facts about the Mountain during her chat with Dr. Tsing, Clarke turns to the now shut door. Her reflection stares back from the dark glass. She’s covered in a large spray of blood. It arcs from her hip, over her chest and up onto half her face.

Slitting the throat of someone high on adrenaline is messy. Apparently.

_ Good to know. _

Looking down the wall, she finds the small indentation she’s looking for. Instead of scanning her stolen access card by the door, she moves down a few steps and runs the card across the small indent. A series of beeps sound, and a small section of the wall retracts to show a palm-sized screen.

Text runs across for a second, until a prompt is left.

**Waiting for user input**

Scanning the card again, the text changes.

**Director of Medical detected. Command?**

Dr. Tsing’s words reverberate through Clarke’s head as she speaks.

“Emergency override. Register personnel death for transfer of duties.”

**Please present proof of death.**

Grimacing slightly, even though she prepared for this. Digging into a small bag from medical, Clarke pulls out the severed hand of Dr. Tsing. She holds it up against the screen, careful not to get blood all over it.

The text moves to the top to remain readable.

**Scanning…**

**Dr. Lorelei Tsing. Death confirmed.**

**Present replacement personnel**

Clarke puts the hand back into the bag, happy to have it out of sight. Placing her own hand on the screen, she clearly intones: “Clarke Griffin.”

**Scanning…**

**Identity registered. Dr. Clarke Griffin registered as Director of Medical.**

**Command?**

“Emergency: Contamination in Research Labs 1 through 3 and Quarantine ward.”

**Decontamination procedure?**

“Incineration of all affected zones. Trigger localized self-destruct of Research Labs 1 through 3.”

**Potentially lethal procedure requested. Director Griffin, please confirm.**

“Confirmed.”

Clarke takes a step back from the wall, and immediately the screen retracts and the panel is back in place. A whooshing sound is starting up. Moving back to the door to Medical, she looks through the bulletproof glass. She sees raging blue flames from the research labs and quarantine. No sound makes it past the numerous sealed doors, but Clarke feels the muted booms emerging from the research labs.

Smiling, she wanders down the corridor.

_ Time to go help my people. _

——————

Looking at her father's watch, she notices it’s been nearly 45 minutes since she irradiated the mountain.

_ Time flies. _

She’s nearly at the dorms. Just a couple turns, and she will be reunited with her people. Turning a corner, Clarke finds herself in a more recognizable part of the mountain. Near the dorms. She lived here for a very short time. Glancing at every doorway out of habit, looking for threats everywhere, she notices her mother and Bellamy standing near the end of the corridor. They seem deep in conversation, and neither has spotted her yet. She smiles and begins to walk towards them.

Without warning, Clarke frowns. A sick slimy feeling is running down her spine. She takes another step forward, and the feeling intensifies. Peering behind her to see if she’s being watched, she finds only an empty hallway.

She takes a step back, and the feeling lessens.

_ What is happening to me?! _

Deciding to trust in the instincts that have guided her all night, Clarke slowly turns back around the corner. Deciding to look for Monty instead to see if he needs any help, she begins walking again.

Only a few minutes later, she is nearly run over by Monty as he stumbles out of a door. The feeling at the back of her spine is back, but this time it feels content. Feels right. Clarke shrugs, and quickly grabs Monty to steady him.

“Clarke. I’ve been looking for you, there’s something I need to tell you, and something we need to do. Lets go.”

Without waiting to see if she is following, he runs down the hall towards the Command Centre.

——————

“So my mom wants us all to stay in the Mountain. Is she crazy?!” Clarke is outraged, but not surprised. She knows her mom hates life on the crashed ark. It now holds few of the conveniences she enjoys. Holds little in terms of defense.

“That’s not all Clarke.. She was talking about how you’ve gone mad.” Monty is gasping after his run back down to Level Seven and the Command Centre. “I mean, you’ve clearly changed.” Clarke snorts. “But you’re still protecting us. She doesn’t see that.”

After another breath of air, Monty finally gets to the point. “Clarke, she asked Bellamy why he didn’t stop you like she had told him to. She didn’t want the mountain men to die. I left before they noticed I could hear them, but Clarke I’m worried.”

Seeing Monty slightly shaky on his feet, Clarke grabs his arm and pulls him in for a firm hug. “Don’t worry Monty. We’re not letting them. I’m guessing that’s why you brought us back down here?”

“We should be able to lock down the mountain as we leave. We will need to remove all the old access codes, so only you have one.” Seeing the look forming on Clarke, Monty swiftly continues: “No. Please. If I don’t have an access code, they can’t force me to use it. I know I would give it up eventually, so please don’t ask me to.”

Nodding to herself, she understands. It’s better this way. Safer.

She has a few plans to make it even safer. She protects her people.

And Monty? He’s hers.

**_He’s family._ **

“Alright. Let's do this.”

Walking over, Clarke grabs hold of President Wallace’s body. She grabs his access card and drags him over to the centre console.

Picking up a marker, she writes a P on the President's card. Pulling out her own card, she writes M for Medical. She adds it to her lanyard. Smirking at Monty, she places her hand on the small touch screen.

A clear robotic voice speaks up: “Identity confirmed. Director of Medical, Dr. Clarke Griffin. Command?”

Laughter bubbles its way out of Monty, a sound both of them have missed. “I know I shouldn’t be surprised, but float me Clarke you’re on a roll today.” Clarke smiles, but it melts into a frown shortly after. “You might not like this, and I can’t answer all your questions right now. As you said, it’s not safe for you to know.”

Turning her head back towards the console, she intones, for the second time in an hour:

“Emergency override. Register personnel death for transfer of duties.”

——————

Everyone has left. They double checked all the monitors after using the intercom system to tell people that it would be safe to head back to the Ark. Clearly they didn’t want to stay while there were dead bodies everywhere, but both Clarke and Monty noticed the greedy looks several people threw at the equipment as they left.

One of the last to leave was Raven, hobbling along, being held up by Clarke’s mother. Clarke wished she could be there to help her friend, but wanting to avoid the confrontation she knew her mother was gearing up for.

Instead, Monty and Clarke leave side by side. Monty is trying hard to ignore the sliding sound coming from behind Clarke. Wincing with every step he takes up the stairs. Every meaty thunk as the body is dragged up along with Clarke makes Monty’s stomach turn.

Still, he says nothing. Clarke rescued them from the mountain. She rescued him from the mountain. Trusts him. More than she should. Blinking away a few tears, he feels the slight puff of fresh air as it drifts into the stairwell.

Level One. The ground. Walking outside is anticlimactic. Everyone is well on their way back to the Ark. He can see the procession of people, lit by torches, trailing through the woods. He has one himself. A small backpack with gear he and Clarke managed to scrounge together before leaving. Clarke carries one that’s much larger. More gear.

Thinking of Clarke going away only brings more tears.

A thump brings him back to reality. Clarke has dropped the bloody and bruised body of Dante Wallace on the ground. They look to each other, then to the wall beside the massive steel door.

“Turn around Monty. It’s best you don’t see exactly how this works.” Agreeing, Monty turns to look at the tree-line. It’s beautiful. They’re up high enough that he can see out over the valley and surrounding forest for miles. It’s been weeks since Monty breathed fresh air and saw the night sky.

**“Identity confirmed. President Clarke Griffin. Command?”**

The electronic voice startles him for a second, but a steadying hand on his back keeps his focus on the trees. He knows knowledge is power, but knowledge also makes you a target. Clarke is keeping him safe.

He feels hands covering his ears. Hears his own blood pounding, or is that Clarke’s blood? A reassuring thought. She’s alive. We’re both alive. We survived.

The hands prevent him from hearing the whispered commands. Monty feels Clarke sigh, the vibration traveling through his arms. Feels her speak a few more sentences, until finally she removes her hands. The electronic voice calls out a final time.

**“Protocol Initialized.”**

Metal scraping against metal tells him it’s done.

He turns around, immediately engulfing Clarke in a hug as strong as he can make it. “Be careful Clarke. I can’t lose my sister.” Finally putting words to what he feels, contentment washes over him as Clarke returns the embrace.

“I will. I love you too Monty.” She looks down at him with clear affection in her voice and eyes. Practically adopted him as soon as they reached the ground.

“Remember what I said. If you need to get away, get to Lexa. Tell her you seek sanctuary on the orders of Wanheda. She will understand.” He nods, knowing this is goodbye.

A last squeeze, and then she lets him go. He turns and starts moving to join the procession of people moving slowly towards the Ark. After a few moments, he stops to look at Clarke again.

“May we meet again.”

——————

An electronic trill echoes through the cavern, easily cutting through the persistent hum of the bright overhead lights.

Row by row, hundreds of ancient fluorescent tubes flicker, and with a heavy click, shut off.

  
  


The cacophony of noise slowly dies down, until finally the cavern lies silent once more. For the first time in over a hundred years this place is blanketed in darkness.

Save for a small patch of blue light coming from a long-forgotten monitor.

It flashes. Once.

Text scrolls by.

“Standby initiated.”

“Press any key to continue…”

——————

Alexis was watching the front entrance of the Maun-de. Not an assignment she was happy with. She still vividly remembers searching the forest for her five year old brother. He had been playing with a few friends, not yet old enough to be apprenticed to a master, or second to a first. The acid fog had come. His friends had ran back to the village when the deep haunting sound of the acid warning rolled through the forest. She remembers asking for her brother. She remembers the look in his friends eyes. That look of certain defeat.

She remembers after, when the fog had lifted, and the village was safe. She remembers running through the forest, hoping he had found shelter in one of the many bunkers or old-world contraptions that were safe-havens against the fog.

She remembers finding him. Remembers his small broken form begging for the pain to end.

She hates. With a burning passion. The Maun-de and it’s acid fog. The Maunon and their suits. Their fayagons. Their deals. The death they bring.

Wants them dead.

Perhaps one day she might get her wish.

Alexis is startled out of her thoughts by a loud clanking noise, followed by the creak of heavy metal moving slowly. She moves to a more alert pose, in case she needs to run. Has no ambitions of fighting the Maun-de single-handedly. She’s a scout. She observes.

People walk out. People without suits.

At first she thinks it’s the Maunon, finally able to walk on the ground. Come to breathe the fresh air, and slaughter more innocent Trikru. She notices most of the people are children.

Staying hidden like Indra commanded, knowing any movement could come off as aggressive, Alexis only hopes her partner is remaining as quiet as she. She counts near 50 people, mixed adults and children.

A limping brunette catches her eye. She’s seen this person before. Looks down to see if there’s a metal brace, and yes. That is Reivon kom Skaikru. These are not Maunon. These are Skaikru.

Reivon appears to be the last one out, and the group sets off towards the ark. The entrance to the Maun-de remains open. Alexis debates whether she should go back to inform her Heda of this development, or if she should stay back to keep an eye out for any Maunon or Klark kom Skaikru.

The decision is made for her when two more people exit the Maun-de. The boy she doesn’t recognize, but the blood covered blonde dragging a body behind her can only be Klark kom Skaikru.

Alexis watches Klark speak to the boy softly, before he turns away to look out at the trees. She makes sure to remain completely still. Alexis sees Klark move to the door, making a few gestures with her hand. Something moves, and Klark puts her hand on it. A moment later, she covers the boys ears. He looks unsurprised, clearly prepared for whatever secrecy is at work here.

Klark has her back to her, but after a few seconds turns back around with a smile on her face. The crackle of tech reaches Alexis ears, but she is unable to make out what is said. The large metal door begins moving again, and when it closes, several heavy thuds can be heard. Like several massive locks engaging. Alexis doesn’t remember hearing the sound when the door opened.

The boy and Klark embrace, affection visible from afar. Alexis wonders who this boy is. He turns away from Klark and walks towards his people after saying a goodbye. Klark however, doesn’t move until the boy is out of sight.

Alexis is about to move towards Klark, but stills when Klark moves the body she dragged with her. Alexis gasps when she sees the hole in the back of the mans head, unsure of what weapon could do such damage. She sits back on the branch to see what Klark will do.

Watches as Klark props the dead man up against the massive steel door. Watches as Klark dips her hand into his wound to gather blood.

Watches as Klark lifts her hand and begins a broad stroke on the door. Watches as she continues.

Gasps as she realises.

_ “Wanheda.” _

She drops down from the tree, intending to speak with Klark like her Heda commanded. To inform her Heda wished to see her.

Hurried steps carry her towards the door. Klark still has her back to her, looking at her bloody drawing.

She’s within distance to speak without being overheard, when suddenly Klark’s voice rings out.

“Your Heda sent you?”

Alexis' voice carries a note of surprise and reverence that she is unable to prevent  _ “Sha Wanheda.” (Yes Wanheda) _

“Tell her the mountain has fallen.” The voice is rough, yet surprisingly warm. Certainly not laced with the anger and hurt Alexis expected after Indra’s briefing.

“Wanheda, I have to ask, what happened in there?”

Warmth replaced with dark satisfaction and cold dripping malice, Klark responds: “I fulfilled a promise.” She turns towards Alexis, and the growing awe on Alexis' face is instantly replaced with concern. She gestures to Klark’s neck.

“Wanheda you’re injured!”

Klark gives no verbal response, simply nods. Grabs her backpack, and begins a measured pace towards the forest. Away from the Maun-de. Away from TonDC, and away from her own people.

When next Alexis blinks, she’s gone. Alexis is left standing in front of a massive steel door. Staring up at a large celtic knot. Drawn in sure strokes by Klark kom Skaikru using the blood of her enemy. The mark of Wanheda.

——————

_ “Heda, there is more.” _ Alexis continued. Too many details were important. Too many things she could say wrong. Heda would need to see it for herself to know more, but Alexis would inform her of everything she saw.

_ “Continue.” _

_ “Heda, she was wounded. She just nodded when I mentioned it, but she was in pain. Good at hiding it, but in pain.” _ Alexis thought for a moment, then continued:  _ “The wound was right on her neck, with a large bruise forming. Covered in red and black blood, all mixed with a silvery substance.” _

_ “Black blood?” _

_ “Sha Heda, shadjus” (Yes Commander, black blood) _


	3. Ch 3 - The Mark of Wanheda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa receives information and makes connections she wishes weren't true. Monty discusses the mountain with Jasper and Octavia.

_“Black blood?”_

_“Sha Heda, shadjus” (Yes Commander, black blood)_

——————

_“Skrish!”_ Lexa swears, an alarmed look taking over her features. That was bad. Incredibly bad. Not paying mind to the shaking scout, Lexa sets a furious pace stomping through the tent.

A Natblida. The Maunon had one of her Natblidas. And she had been unaware. Blind.

She does not care for the additional weight the guilt adds to her already worn shoulders. Does not like the cloying feeling of disappointment.

The anger, however, is welcome. Very welcome. Settling like a well worn and familiar cloak around her, Lexa feels the presence of the spirit she carries. Feels their anger. Their despair.

Lexa has improved the safety of the Natblidas during her time as Heda. Allowed them sanctuary in Polis. Gave them the training they would need to survive. Knowledge of their blood and history.

Gave them protection. Family.

A Natblida would live in Polis during the cold seasons, only traveling to be with their birth family during the warm months. To her people, family is everything.

**_Family is sacred._ **

In recent years, only one Natblida has been lost. A vast improvement over the time before her conclave. Even so, one is more than she cares to lose.

Kiun had traveled with a small group of trusted warriors to his home village. On his way to visit with his family. On his way to help with their small farm.

He had never arrived. His father had come to Polis himself in the hope Kiun had simply been delayed. Fearing the kidnapping of a Natblida, Lexa had sent a detachment of warriors with the distraught warrior to the village.

The warriors followed the trail Kiun and his guards had made. Found their camp in the middle of the forest. A camp still with tents. A burnt out campfire, half-rotten rabbit still hanging from a skewer above the ash.

An empty camp, save for the dismembered bodies of two guards. Lexa remembers dread when the warriors had recounted finding a trail of red and black blood. A trail that led to the body of the last guard.

A trail of black blood, leading straight into pauna territory. The home of a very angry pauna, who had chased them away once they had been found.

Lexa blinks out of her temporary trance. Bones still burning with righteous anger, Lexa commands herself. Controls her breathing, and settles back into her Heda personality.

_The dead are gone. The living are hungry._

**_We can mourn later._ **

So. The Maunon has had a Natblida. Kiun had been missing for just over a year, having gone missing shortly after the cold weather receded and nature begun its bloom.

Thanks to Klark, Lexa now knows more of what her people endured as prisoners of the Maunon. Wishing, not for the first time, that Klark had never told her.

The Maunon must have tortured Kiun. They would have put him in a cage, along with the others. But the Maunon will not have stopped there. Kiun would have been strung up and attached to their Tek. They would have drained him, and as soon as his black blood discovered, taken away for study.

Lexa hopes Kiun died a swift death. Heda, and experience, tells her that Kiun most assuredly did not die swiftly.

The Maunon must have studied his blood. Experimented. Tried to find out what makes it different. Lexa prays they did not. Hopes they used it for their treatments, and even in her head, the word is loaded with hate and disdain.

Hopes the Maunon burned once the blood entered them. Black blood is both a blessing and a curse. Can give and take. Powerful at doing both.

But how had Clarke ended up with a wound on her neck?

How had what is most likely Kiun’s _sheidjus_ _(black blood)_ ended up in Clarke’s wound?

The sheidjus was mixed with something silver. What is it?

An even more insistent thought tugs at Lexa, making her wince at the oversight.

_Clarke is alive._

Alive. Despite what Lexa knows is cursed blood having been put into her. Looking inward, she finds nothing but a sense of bafflement and worry. Even the spirit does not know how Clarke can survive with sheidjus in her blood.

If you are not born with sheidjus, you will die if it’s forced into you.

It is a highly unpleasant death, Lexa knows. It has been used in the past for execution of traitors. Painful, certainly, but fast. Guaranteed death for those who cannot be allowed to live.

It is etched into Lexa’s mind with acid.

Pained moans and thrashing. An arched spine. An empty scream as they collapse.

The first time, she had been just barely 7 summers. Forced into the dubious honour of supplying blood for the execution.

She had done away with the punishment as soon as she was made Heda. Titus still frowns and gets moody whenever it’s mentioned.

A cough and a worried _“Heda?”_ breaks through the haze of memories and thoughts cluttering her mind.

_Right. Alexis._

_Why am I as unfocused as a goufa? (child)_

Abruptly turning on the spot to face her scout, Lexa decides on a plan of action.

_“You did well Alexis. Gather your scouting party. I need you rested, well fed, and ready by sunrise. An outpost will be established close to the mountain. You will take command. Take watch and observe any who wish to intrude upon the Maun-de”_

As she’s walking back to her throne, Lexa takes in the shocked look on Alexis face. Observes as it melts into determination and pride. Lexa chose well.

A moment later, a firm and resolute _“Sha Heda”_ follows.

_We will join them. We need to inspect the mark, see if Klark truly has laid claim to both the Maun-de and the title of Wanheda._

**_We do._ **

_The dead will be seen to. There are pyres to be built._

——————

Torch lit, illuminating the forest ahead of him, Monty continues towards Camp Jaha. His mind muddled with thoughts and worries.

His friends had survived, yet several others never made it back to the ground. Never got to breathe fresh air again. His family survived, yet is fractured. Feeling a longing to be with his people is all that keeps him on the trodden path of dirt and muddy leaves. Were they with him, Monty isn’t sure he’d ever step into the camp.

Camp Jaha. A place of conflicting emotions. The desire for freedom wars with the necessity of survival. Clarke told him about it. About how the Ark had crashed, stations splitting up and landing in different locations. How they had moved to claim the land around them for their own, and how the adults of the Ark had moved to erect a wall to stake their claim with.

Fortified with electricity, they thought themselves safe. Safe from the wildlife perhaps, but Monty knows better than to consider it safe against the people of the ground.

Being sent to the ground, being used as canaries in a coal mine, has shook Monty’s trust in the Council and the people of the Ark. How could they send children to the ground? Some, like Charlotte, hadn’t even been teenagers.

Given how Monty saw and heard Abby acting in the mountain, he’s certain things will go back to the old way. The council knows best. Nobody questions it. If they do, they don’t do so for long.

Mind made up, fortified by the lingering feeling of Clarke’s implicit trust, Monty takes a step off the path.

_Now, Clarke, let’s see if I can find it in the dark._

——————

It had taken a while, but Monty had rushed. It helps that their rescued people were walking slowly, either due to being wounded or helping those who were.

He had just made it to the tree line nearest the ark when he saw the last of the procession walk through the gate to the camp, closing behind them. Deciding to slow down to appear less threatening, Monty broke through the tree cover and hesitantly approached the gate.

Guards were posted on the wall, and seeing someone approach with a lit torch, called out for him to identify himself instead of shooting on sight. Quickly identifying him as one of the former prisoners sent to the ground and confirming he is unarmed, Monty is let through into the camp.

——————

Shortly after getting inside, Jasper spots him and calls him over. Sitting by a fire near the far wall, Jasper appears to have been in a heated discussion with Octavia. It’s just the two of them.

Considering the rest of the survivors had been locked in a room for hours— forced to stand and watch while their friends had their valuable bone marrow drilled out. Considering many were wounded, Monty wonders if they’re all huddled up together in Medical. If they’ve been given painkillers to knock them out.

Thinking about it, Monty wonders if he shouldn’t knock himself out. Could certainly do without the images of genocide. Of 674 people breathing radioactive air. Dying because their organs began to liquefy from the inside out. Rapid-onset radiation poisoning. “Monty.”

Very rapid. Monty begins to shake.

“Monty!” A hand on his shoulder. Jerking out of his thoughts, and the grip on his shoulder. Monty’s head swivels around, panic and fear prevalent in his eyes. Once they settle on the familiar and friendly face of his best friend Jasper, Monty finally calms a little.

Hand re-settling on his shoulder, he hears a soft “you with us Monty?”

It takes a few seconds, but eventually Monty speaks, voice coming out dreamlike and far away: “Sorry. I just. There were so many..”

“I’m sorry Monty, I really am. I saw some of it from the vents too,” Jasper ventures, and pushes forward with something he really needs to know. “Monty. Did you see Maya? Did you see any of them? The rebellion?”

Wrenching back control, Monty somehow manages to push his emotions away for later. He replays the memories as carefully as he can, trying to remember any of the few friendly faces in the mountain. People who had helped them. People he helped Clarke kill.

Coming up blank, a puzzled frown settling on his face. Slowly, careful with his choice of words, he begins: “Since you and I broke free from the guards to hide in the vents, I didn’t see any of them. Didn’t see anyone when we went down to the command centre. On the screens… I don’t recall seeing any.”

Knowing that what he would say next would shock his friend, Monty took a moment to let it settle. When Jasper looked less panicked, Monty decided to continue: “Jasper, we counted them all. 674 people died- “

Octavia emits a strange noise at this, face growing tighter, but staying stubbornly silent.

“- died of radiation in the Mountain. None of them were our friends. The surveillance system showed no-one was left.”

Jasper’s voice is tremulous and tentative hope shines through his body language as he interrupts to ask: “S-so. She’s not dead? Maya might be alive?”

Feeling awful for not being able to give his friend certainty that Maya survived, Monty attempts to explain what happened.

“I’m so sorry Jasper, but I really don’t know. As I said, the computers and surveillance system showed no-one but us alive when we left, and Clarke and I were the last to leave. And Clarke.. She locked the mountain down as we left. She refused to tell or show me how, but she did. The main entrance was locked when I began the walk back to camp.”

Silence stretches uncomfortably between them, only worsened by the uncharacteristic silence of Octavia.

Deciding that if the silence wasn’t broken he’d go crazy, Monty speaks up: “I truly hope she’s alive Jasper. I saw how the two of you were, and I think you deserve a chance. They might not have been many, but the people that helped us deserved to survive.”

Seeing that Jasper has nothing to add, he decides to move the discussion to something that had been worrying him since hearing it.

“I have to tell the two of you something.”

Jasper perks up, already adopting an inquisitive frown, and a playful shine is slowly making its way back to his eyes. Even Octavia seemed to perk up a little, whatever thoughts darkening her mood must have receded a little.

“After.. Well, after Clarke pulled the lever.. I went to help unchain our people and to look for survivors.” Swallowing to clear his throat and collect his thoughts.

“I overheard something, and I’m a little worried about what it means.”

“Monty come on, out with it.” Seemingly, not knowing something had pulled Jasper into a semblance of a younger, more confident, self.

“Alright, well I was checking one of the rooms next to the dorm, making sure we’d found all our people.. Or at least what was left. I was about to walk out when I heard them talking.”

“Abby. She was speaking with Bellamy, questioning him about what went wrong. She sounded upset. Angry. Asked why Clarke killed them all, why he didn’t stop her. Bellamy seemed confused, not sure what else they could have done, but also not agreeing with Clarke’s actions.”

Octavia was definitely paying more attention now, waiting for him to continue. Jasper had dropped the playful look, remembering what he saw above the mess hall and dorms.

“She said that what Clarke had done was wrong. Bellamy seemed to agree, but she continued. Said that Clarke wasn’t well. That she had to be mentally ill. That they needed to lock her up for killing all the Mountain Men.”

Something seemed to snap in Octavia. Anger taking over her features, and she springs to her feet. “Well maybe she should! She’s killed over a thousand people!” Speech picking up pace as anger spreads through her, widening her stance. Unconsciously taking a fighting position. “She killed 300 warriors at the drop-ship! over 250 people at TonDC! And you said 674 Mountain Men! Maybe she should be locked up, she’s a monster!”

One hand on the pommel of her sword, clenching hard enough for the tendons to stand out, Octavia turns and stalks away from the fire, into the darkness.

Staring after her, Jasper slowly turns to Monty and asks: “What happened in TonDC?”

——————

They spoke for a while longer, and Monty tried to explain what he could. He didn’t know everything, and preferred it this way.

_Keeps me safer. Keeps Clarke safer._

Jasper seems to understand more was going on. He had seen what the Mountain Men were capable of. Seen what Clarke was capable of. However, Jasper knows Clarke well enough to know that she never uses violence as a first option.

She’s strong, and dangerous no doubt, but never acts out in anger unprovoked. Always seeks a peaceful resolution. However, once a threat is made, it’s a promise. One she has always fulfilled if the situation did not get resolved.

A yawn splits the comfortable silence that had settled like a familiar blanket between them. Monty looks over, and sees the tired features of his friend.

“You look like shit Jasper, go get some sleep.”

Shuffling to his feet, sleep slowing his actions to a crawl, Jasper responds: “You too Monty. We’ve both been awake for far too long.”

“I know. I’ll join you in a bit, I just need a little time to think.”

Unspoken understanding passes between them. Jasper nods, a small smile having found its way onto his face, and walks away quietly.

Monty turns to the slowly dying fire, and resists throwing another piece of wood on it, knowing that he truly did need to sleep soon. Already, exhaustion is causing his mind to slow to a crawl, but he truly did have a lot on his mind. Thoughts he’d rather settle before sleep. Before inevitable nightmares.

——————

A soft whooshing sound breaks him out of his trance. Looking up, Monty finds Lincoln sitting across the fire. Nothing is said between them.

Both seeking the soothing warmth of the fire. The unspoken camaraderie. The understanding that they had survived to see another day, but being too tired to really celebrate.

For a brief moment, Monty considers asking why Lincoln isn’t with Octavia. Having seen her tantrum earlier, he decides not to pry. Instead, he silently observes the only friendly grounder left in their camp.

“What do you know of Wanheda?” The inquisitive words spill from his lips without thought, unable to catch them in time to prevent them from falling. Immediately he regrets the words.

However, the response is not what Monty had imagined. Instead of the annoyance and frustration with their calm being broken, he finds an interested and questioning face peering back at him. No aggression visible. A stark contrast to everyone else Monty has met during this long long day.

“She is the eldest spirit in my religion, and one of the two most important. Octavia can’t have told you about her, as she is not interested in our religion. Who mentioned her to you?” a streak of sadness flies across his face when Lincoln mentions Octavia, but it is gone before Monty had a chance to blink.

An instinctive feeling makes Monty feel like Lincoln is trustworthy. He has already given Monty more information than he had, and he hopes to learn more. “Clarke told me something. Told me to do something.”

Wondering at the soft expression on Lincoln’s face at the mention of Clarke, Monty decided to tell the truth, wanting to know what his sister had meant.

“She told me, if I was ever in danger. If I needed to get away, to find your commander. She said: ‘Tell her you seek sanctuary on the orders of Wanheda. She will understand’. Lincoln, what does it mean?”

Lincoln’s face stayed friendly, but a touch of reverence made itself known. “She called herself Wanheda? Are you sure?”

“I think so. I mean, who else could she have meant. She told me to go to Lexa, the commander. I’ve never met anyone named Wanheda, and I don’t think Clarke has either. Maybe it’s a code the commander gave her for safe passage?”

“Monty. My people, we take our religion very seriously. We do not speak lightly of the spirits, especially not Wanheda. The commander will not have spoken her name so lightly.”

Monty needed to know. Something inside him hungering for knowledge, for a closer connection with the girl who had taken place in his heart. Become his sister. “Please Lincoln, I need to know. What can you tell me?”

“It is not the right time, or place, to speak too much. But I will tell you what I can given our current location.” Lincoln looked around, as if expecting people coming out of the shadows to overhear the discussion.

“Our religion is not like that of the old world. When Finn was executed for his murders, Did Klark tell you of our funeral pyres?” Monty nodded: “Yes, she said it was due to a belief in reincarnation? Setting the soul free?”

“Yes. We believe in reincarnation. That a soul will grow with the lives it has lived. We believe in the Spirits. Some are old, ancient. Others are younger, yet still ancient compared to the oldest living person.” Lincoln’s gaze sharpens as he speaks, speaking clearly, and with importance. Monty listens like his life depends on it.

“There are many Spirits. But above them all, two rests. Heda. A younger spirit has been with us since this world rose from the ashes of the Great Flames of the old world. The second spirit, Wanheda, is ancient. Beyond records. Beyond time. From before the Great Flames. Unending, unyielding.”

Doing his best to sound respectful of Lincoln’s religion, Monty asks: “But, Heda? Isn’t Heda your commander?” Lincoln smiles, as he had anticipated the question.

“Indeed. The commander is host to Heda, also known as the Commander of Blood in Gonasleng. Her title comes from the spirit, and the spirit chooses the Commander.”

Monty nods, not really understanding, but enough to move on.

“Wanheda, she is known commonly as the Commander of Death, though many disagree with the name. She appears much less frequently than Heda, only showing herself in times of great strife. She marks either the beginning or the end of bloody conflict.” His voice has turned grave, taking on a timbre Monty has never heard him use before.

“Wanheda is the strongest spirit. Always fiercely protective of those loyal to her. Possessive of those closest to her. Some call her Death itself. Others claim she seeks to reduce death, to sustain life.”

Slowing his speech down, making sure everything is as clear as possible, Lincoln whispers across the dying embers of their fire. Voice ringing with belief. With truth.

“She is mysterious and has always stayed private. However, this much is known. She has always come forth close to sites of great death. She marks those she considers hers. A mark only they and those with the mark can see. A mark of companionship. An indicator of loyalty. A familial claim."


	4. Ch 4 - Souls and Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This time we learn a little more about what happened after Clarke left the mountain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you so much for all the wonderful comments! It’s amazing to see so many people enjoying the story I’m trying to put together ;_;  
> Some of you have asked some interesting questions in the comments, and some might even be answered in this chapter. Maybe.
> 
> I hope you’re all staying as safe as you can with the current situation. Stay strong. #BlackLivesMatter

The forest is quiet. The air is laden with a heavy sweetness. A slight tang of something burnt.

Clarke is wandering slowly, with no apparent purpose. Yet with raised foot, with every carefully placed step, the path appears more and more familiar.

The forest remains silent. Her feet making no sound, despite the visible depressions being made into the ground. Despite the dry leaves and branches she can see cracking under her sure footing.

She walks. She explores. Her mind blissfully quiet. Body free from aches or pains.

Clarke has been here before. Her sluggish mind takes ages to come to this conclusion. But she is certain. She has been here. She thinks.

It has been days. It has been hours. Has it been months yet.

Clarke is not sure. It feels real. Real enough anyways. Eventually, she decides.

_ I’ve been here before. _

Clarke is enraptured. A slow blink. Another enchanting eternity passing without remark. The forest is timeless. Dense, yet opens itself to Clarke as she wanders. Aimlessly, yet with purpose.

_ It has been… _

Clarke is straining to finish her thought, somehow knowing that no matter which word she picks it will describe it quite right. Eventually she settles on one word that sounds right.. Right enough.

_ It has been… long. _

Something tugs at her gently. Nothing physical, just an urge. An urge to delve deeper within the deadly silent forest. Delve into trees that have taken on an enchanting aesthetic. The light filtering down through the lush canopy seems richer.  _ Seems more.  _ Knows she cannot fight the impulse. Understands she doesn’t want to.

Accepts. Accepts that she has to approach.

The trees are no different from those already surrounding her. They are no different, and still they are  _ more _ . As she advances on the trees they part for her, like the rest of the forest. Like long-lost friends.

She reaches out. Runs a hand down rough bark. Abruptly, a longing overtakes her, and she takes a deep breath of the forest air. A dark scent, rich with floral tones. Rich with humidity and rot. The smell of nature, balance between life and death.  _ Home _ .

Clarke finds her eyes has closed involuntarily. She fights to open them.

As she does, she is overwhelmed with the sight in front of her. A silent but forceful gasp forcing its way through her lips.

A meadow. A lone tree standing strong in the middle. The ground a mixture of lush green grass and uncountable flowers, blossoming impossible colours.

Everything cast in an odd ethereal glow. Looking up, Clarke expects to find a light blue sky, yellow-golden sun shining down. That is not what she finds.

The sky is a vibrant purple. It is bright, even with no sun. The light feels as soothing as the dusk after a long day of intense sun.

The feeling tugs at her again. Firmer this time. Drags her towards the tree.

Clarke gives in. Lets herself be caught up in the flow and feeling of this strange place. Feels like she floats across the verdant meadow. Feet touching the ground, though nothing disturbs the nature around her. No footprints. No broken flowers or blades of glass. Nothing to show Clarke has passed through.

Everything is as peaceful and untouched as before. Clarke has never passed through here.

_ I’ve been here before. _

Clarke expects the pull to bring her to the tree itself, but as she nears it becomes clear that her goal is simply beneath the towering canopy.

It stands out. A person is resting, lying peacefully on the ground.

Clarke floats closer to get a closer look. It looks to be a young man, but his features are oddly distorted. Not quite there. Half-erased and washed out.

_ I.. I feel like.. I know him? _

“Clarke.”

The man’s lips move, a broken and stumbling voice piercing the eerie silence. The first sound heard since entering the forest. It’s familiar. Name just on the tip of her tongue, and still Clarke finds herself unable to recall.

“Help me. Please”

_ Atom? _

Everything changes. Clarke is sitting, legs folded beneath her. Atom’s head resting in her lap. Features no longer blurry and washed out, they now stand out in stark relief to the perfect world around them. Acid burns mar his face. Pain contorts his face into a stark imitation of the kind man she never got to know.

_ You’re dead. How? _

Unthinking, a hand finds its way into the remains of his hair. Slowly soothing him.

Clarke knows this is important. Knows that it is different. It is  _ more _ . She has been here before, but not quite like this. Atom was dead. Is dead. Atom is in her lap. Somehow still alive.

“Please.” Atom’s voice rasps out. Begging.

Looking down, her eyes find her left hand. Clasped around the handle of a knife. The very same knife Clarke had used to relieve Atom of his pain.

Instantly, Clarke understands. She has to help. She has a duty to perform.

A sound splits the air. A hum, following the tune of unheard instruments. A nursery rhyme as old as time. Older than time.

Pleased with the sound, the familiar tones reverberating through Clarke as she hums, she ruffles Atom’s hair once more.

Left hand raising to place the knife against the side of Atom’s neck. She looks him in the eyes. Sees acceptance. Gratitude. Awe.

Not an ounce of fear.

Clarke nods. Pulls her arm towards her. There is no resistance, the blade cutting as if through air. Atom’s skin parts, a clean line forming. It stays clean. No blood spills up

_ You’re already dead, aren’t you? _

Atom’s face falls back into the shadows of non-existence. Slowly, his lips pull up into a smile as the rest of his face regains its features. The correct features. Unmarred. Youthful and whole.

A soft, deafening, whisper drifts from Atom to the wind, blanketing the meadow in his gratitude. Motes of light are beginning to form on his body. As the whisper dies out, the motes form more and more rapidly, until multi-coloured motes cover his body with light.

They lift up away from the ground, and separate into groups. Green shades into one cloud, blue shades into another. Smaller clouds remain, full of bright oranges and muted reds.

Clarke is taking in the sight as the groups of light begin to rotate. Begin to move. They mix back together. Moving to the rhythm of Clarke’s hum. Rising and lowering, the swirl of colour slowly floats around Clarke. Once, maintaining distance. Then, moving closer.

Some motes come into contact with Clarke’s skin. Settling on her. Melting into her. Clarke feels a contact. A brief whisper of skin on skin. A lingering touch.

As the cloud decreases a little in size. As more motes melt into her, the feeling builds. Until, finally, Clarke feels like she’s being hugged by Atom. Tears are streaming down her face, and still she keeps up the haunting hum.

Clarke feels warm and recharged. The remaining cloud retreats, roughly half the size it was before. Between one blink and the next, the cloud forms a vaguely humanoid shape. Bows to her. Then blinks out of existence.

She feels free. Free from the guilt of her first kill. Despite knowing it had been a mercy killing, Clarke had never been able to shrug it off. Felt like there had been more she could have done. Except, logically she knew. Knew that his body had already died from the acid fog. It just hadn’t accepted it yet.

**“May we meet again.”** The words had spilled unbidden from her mouth, yet they feel right. Like they were meant to be.

“What the hell just happened.”

——————

Clarke jerks awake. That dream again. It had been a while since she originally had it. It had been the day she woke up in the Mountain’s Quarantine Ward. The stress of the situation had made her push it aside, but the peace it brought lingered. She still remembers the peace. No more guilt. Well, she still had plenty of guilt left, but none for killing Atom. He had needed help, and she had been the only one willing to give it to him.

Her bed creaks beneath her as she sits up. A breeze wafting across her. Must have rained overnight, and her tent cooled down. She opens her eyes.

She’s not in her tent. The green canopy of a tree above her and the gentle sway of the branch she’s lying on makes that quite obvious.

Memories crash into her. Finn. Lexa. The Mountain. Slaughter. Dr. Tsing. Monty and his warning.

She had locked down the Mountain with Monty. Had dragged the body of Dante Wallace up to the entrance. Locked it. Remembers the instinct that had forced words out of mouth. Words she did not fully understand.

_ What the hell is Wanheda? Why would I tell Monty that? _

Remembers the feeling of being a passenger in her body. Remembers watching as she had drawn a mark on the door. A weird feeling of satisfaction flowing through her when it had been completed.

The scout. Lexa’s scout. Whom she had known had been there, despite Clarke not knowing. Words spoken, again the use of Wanheda. Was she Wanheda? Why had the scout seemed so frightened and in awe?

**_Calm down Clarke. You need to get to safety._ **

The thought, indistinguishable from her own thoughts, was right. Clarke needed to move. Needed to get down from this tree. She twisted and turned, slowly making her way to the bottom of the tree. Earned several small scrapes in the process, but luckily nothing major.

Still, her entire body ached. Muscles burned. Her back felt like it had been trampled by a horse. The headache she remembered from the night before quickly settling back in.

_ Right. That floating serum. _

**_Safety Clarke. Don’t linger. Move._ **

Even so, Clarke allowed herself a few moments to gasp for breath. Once feeling a little more composed, she reaches for the backpack that she had prepared in the Mountain. Her memory is a little cloudy, she opens it to double check what she had packed.

Emergency rations. Two flasks of water. Small tent and a bedroll. Flint and steel to make fires. A small gas burner and a metal pot. An essential medical kit, ready to go. Clarke had only added a few extras. Ammunition for the gun she hated to use. Clothes scavenged from the people she had killed. Three flares. Nothing extraordinary, but enough to help her get by.

Of course, she is still wearing the armour given to her by Lexa. Lexa. Who had also gifted her the knife faithfully strapped to her thigh.

**_Clarke. Move._ **

_ Right. Right, sure. _

She is so tired. But she does need to move. Eases the backpack onto her pained back, feeling bruises shift beneath the armour.

_ How did I get bruises all over my back? Under my armour? _

One last look around the tree, and spotting no items left Clarke puts the Mountain at her back. With unnatural grace and agility, she steps away from the tree. Into the forest.

No trail or trace left behind.

**_Good._ **

——————

Lexa woke. The switch from dream state to waking as instantaneous as usual. Practiced motions guide her as she gets dressed. Donning her armour, strapping on her weapons. Both visible and hidden. She is prepared.

Internally, Lexa considers. As she dresses, Lexa is considering what is required to rebuild TonDC. Whether a different location would be better. Perhaps materials from Polis would speed the process.

During breakfast, Skaikru is on her mind. Their similarities to the Maunon. Their softness, weakness. How strong-minded they can be, how their resolve fails all but a few.

As Lexa, she is unimpressed. They are weak. Hiding behind fortifications built by their elders.

As Heda, she is worried. They have Maunon weapons. They have Tek. They can be tenacious.

Overall, a worrying group of people. She must watch them, putting another strain on her people. A strain she would rather not put on them. The scouts could be used to watch Azgeda. They could help build fortifications.

As Lexa leaves her tent, her mind has moved to the Maun-de. What will become of the ancient stronghold? What will happen to the coalition as a result?

Will any of the clans make a move on the Maun-de? Will they consider the coalition no longer needed?

_ Honestly Klark. _

Lexa can’t be mad at the blonde. Lexa would have attempted to do the same in her place. Unsure if she would have succeeded, but Lexa would have tried. Cannot blame her for protecting her people.

Lexa did the same. In hindsight, perhaps not the best decision. However, her people are safe. They are alive, and so is she. For now.

She had spent all day yesterday debriefing scouts about the movements of the Skaikru. Had spent a considerable amount of time on missives for messenger to carry to Polis and the clans of her victory.

Lexa is brought out of her musings as she spots the contingent of warriors and scouts at the edge of camp. As she approaches, a younger second approaches with her horse saddled up. She does a quick inspection and gives an approving nod to the young girl. A swift motion later and Lexa is mounted atop her warhorse.

There are many reasons to go back to the Maun-de. Her official reason is to perform the funeral rites for their fallen, and to set up an outpost to watch for potential invaders of the Maun-de.

Even if only to herself, Lexa finds it difficult to accept the other reasons. If the Maunon are all dead. Verifying if Wanheda walks once more.

If Klark still lives.

“ _ Warriors. Scouts. Today we will see to our fallen. Pyres must be built. Must be lit. Our brothers and sisters souls must be released to live once more!” _

An answering cheer rings out through the assembled people. In the camp behind her, Lexa can hear the cheer repeated.

_ “To the Maun-de!” _

As one, they set off. Lexa in the front with her guards close by. She knows scouts have gone ahead to ensure there will be no surprises.

On horseback they are able to set a good pace, arriving near the entrance to the Maun-de just before midday.

Lexa commands the warriors to first set up a small camp, then to begin gathering the firewood for the pyres. Along with Indra, who had insisted on joining her on this trip, Lexa walks near the metal door that has protected the Maun-de since before the Great Fires.

The ground is littered in bodies from their assault on the door. Bloody mud surrounds the fallen.

A body sits upright against the door, shock and pain still etched on its face. As they near, Lexa matches the features to the description of Dante Wallace that Klark had given her weeks before.

_ “So it is true. Wanheda.”  _ Lexa hears Indra’s whispered words. Not loud enough to be meant for her ears, but Indra should know better. Lexa always hears.

_ “We shall see Indra.”  _ She steps closer to the door, stopping just short of Dante’s body. In front of her, is a mark Lexa has only seen in books and on parchment. Never in person. And most certainly never made in blood.

A shiver forces its way through her, and Lexa immediately understands that it wasn’t hers. The spirit shivered. Looking and feeling inwards, Lexa finds unusual chaos.

Her spirits normally ordered and calm mind in uproar. Confused. Afraid. Happy. Longing. Fear. Overwhelming fear.

_ What’s wrong? _

**_Lexa. It is Wanheda. She was here. With Klark. I can feel her. The air is saturated. Surely you can smell it?_ **

Inhaling, Lexa focuses on the smells in the air. The scents. There is blood, the onset of decay from bodies. The floral scents of the forest. The humidity. The scent of the air after a thunderstorm. Heavy, fresh and oppressive.

This time, the spirit isn’t the only one that shivers.

**_I am unsure how, but she feels more… real_ **

**_More concrete than previous hosts. She feels like a free spirit. How I feel when in-between hosts. But spirits need a host to interact with this world._ **

_ What should we do? _

**_She dealt with the Maun-de. I feel no life here. Pray we do not anger her further._ **

_ Well skrish. (well shit) _

**_Quite._ **

_ “Indra. It appears we do not need to worry about the Mountain. Klark kom Skaikru however… Do not do  _ **_anything_ ** _ to anger her. Do you understand?” _

_ “Sha Heda.” _

——————

The warriors made quick work of building the pyres, and it did not take long before they were ready. Once standing, it was easy to see how many further lives the Maunon had claimed. 57 warriors. Surely fewer than it could have been, yet every soul a heavy weight on Lexa’s shoulders.

She and her warriors were assembled in a circle around the pyres. Everyone holding a torch. A collective whisper rose up from the crowd, loaded with emotions. Some were setting free the souls of family.

_ “Yu gonplei ste odon.” _

Silently, Lexa added a plea.

_ Guide them well Wanheda. Please Klark. _

—————— 

After a full week of walking, only stopping for food and rest, Clarke had found a cave. Hidden behind an outcropping of rocks, on a hillside looking over the forest. Mount Weather visible in the distance. She made a small camp.

Nearby, a shallow river provided water. There were fish, though Clarke had yet to try her hand at fishing. She started hunting with surprising success. Managed to land a few lucky throws of her dagger. Lexa’s dagger. Set up snares to catch rabbits.

She must have paid better attention in Pike’s Earth Skills class than she remembered, because she had no memory of how to build snares until she had needed it.

Clarke had spent time securing her shelter. Had added a fire pit just inside the cave, and built a half-cover for the entrance of branches and leaves to better protect her at night. She had gathered dry leaves to pad her bedroll with. Had even managed to take down a deer, the skin still drying after she had washed it out. Overall, Clarke is quite pleased with her new home after only having been here for just under two weeks. 10 days last she counted.

She had even been eating better, the successful hunts providing her with more food than she was used to. She had begun to notice her growing strength and stamina. She could run and hunt for longer than she was used to, sure that the added food had helped her grow faster.

However, Clarke was still in pain. Her limbs had calmed down, the burning reduced from a fire to a simmer. The headache was less intrusive, but flared up with every loud noise.

Her back was purple. Covered in bruises she didn’t remember getting. Bruises that had spread from her neck all the way down her spine. After a few days it had begun spreading out sideways. Across her shoulder blades. Across her lower back. Onto her sides. Stopping just before touching her front. It has been a persistent dull throbbing. Every movement pulling at aching joints and muscles.

Today has been especially bad. Unable to sleep due to the increasing pain in her back, Clarke got sloppy during a hunt. She had made too much noise, driving away the small boar she had been tracking. Empty snares only worsened her mood.

Clarke had decided to make a fishing spear. Needed to improve her skills. Instinct and need agreeing. For now, Clarke is busy cleaning and sharpening the branch she had picked up on the way home.

Dinner would be berries. Clarke’s stomach rumbles in frustration. The momentary lapse in concentration causing her knife to slip, making a shallow cut in her finger.

_ What. Is. That?! _

Blood was seeping out, slower than expected for a cut like this. Blood would be understandable. Blood the colour of metallic silver, with streaks of the darkest red is absolutely not something Clarke would consider normal.

There’s a moment where Clarke wonders if this is a dream. If the strange tug will be back to lead her to another person, or group of people, that she has killed. If they will vanish into motes of light like the others. If they will settle on her with hugs and reassurances. If maybe their touch will feel like understanding and sadness and pain but also relief like the dream of TonDC had been.

Wonders if she is finally dreaming of the674 broken and burned bodies of the Mountain men.

It’s a brief moment. One that is interrupted when the pain crashes through her. It feels as though the sharp pain in her finger has reignited the pain throughout her. A wildfire sweeps through her, causing her to drop the dagger.

A strangled moan is dragged out of Clarke as her headache flares in intensity. Everything seems too sharp. Too loud. Skin too sensitive. Smells too much. Everything is too much.

Before she knows it, Clarke is curled in a ball on the ground of her cave. Pain wracking her features. Wounded finger bleeding less red. More silver, until only silver remains.

Her head is thrown back in a silent scream. Eyes opening. A purple glow shining onto the cave floor. As her eyes close, the glow disappears and everything goes dark for Clarke.

Even unconscious, the pain is muted but present. Clarke knows she is not alone.

**_Clarke. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen. It wasn’t supposed to happen._ **

**_That cursed serum of the Mountain.. It accelerated things. Changed things._ **

**_I was, in a manner of speaking, closer to the surface. You needed me at the Mountain, and I came. When Dr. Tsing injected you, I immediately tried to stop it. I could only slow it down, but that cut activated it. All of it._ **

_ What’s happening to me? Who are you? _

**_The serum has been activated Clarke. It’s slowly been changing you. I had slowed it down, but the cut enabled the self-healing aspects. It’s trying to protect you, but it’s not finished its job._ **

**_Dr. Tsing told you about her experiments. You know what I mean._ **

**_As for who I am. That is a long story Clarke. A very long story._ **

**_I am you._ **

**_Ai laik Wanheda. (I am Wanheda)_ **


	5. Ch 5 - A History of Humanity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Octavia attempts to work through her feelings about Clarke and the Mountain. Clarke has an important discussion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Notes: A somewhat shorter chapter this time, as some important things take place. You’ll get another short chapter soon to make up for the difference, I just didn’t want it to overshadow this one :)

Octavia is overflowing with emotions. Anger swirls within her. Clarke has been gone for weeks, and Octavia doesn’t have anyone else that deserves her anger.

Clarke deserves it all. She’s a monster. Has killed over a thousand people. But Clarke is her friend, and Clarke saved her people.

_ They were never my people to begin with. _

Clarke. She’s the reason everything has become just like it was on the Ark. The reason why Octavia was no longer Indra’s second. The reason why she had been banished, and the reason why she is now trapped within the coffin-like walls of Arkadia.

They had renamed the camp days after returning from Mt. Weather. Clearly being reminded they were on the ground was too much for the fragile personalities of the Ark.

Octavia scoffs.

_ They’re weak. _

She had been training with Lincoln for days, attempting to burn out the anger. Logically she knows Clarke made the right choice in the Mountain. But she can’t forgive her for TonDC. For the innocents that had died despite Clarke’s knowledge.

The blow catches her unaware, and she stumbles. Lincoln doesn’t look surprised that he managed to land hit with his staff. Concern has been a permanent fixture on his face since the mountain. Octavia is sure he misses his people, probably more than she does.

Trigedasleng from Lincoln snaps her back out of it:  _ “Do you want to talk about it?” _

Oh she really doesn’t. She straightens, her grip on the staff tightening. Readying her stance.

Sadness flickers across Lincoln’s face, leaving tiredness behind. It’s not the first time he’s tried this tactic. Let her beat the anger out, then try to corner her. Clearly he’d been hoping it would work this time.

She attacks. Indra had taught her well, and Lincoln had helped her improve her skill. She will win this fight. Lashing out with the staff, aiming a blow at Lincoln’s side, she feints and kicks towards his leg.

She splutters, cold water drenching her clothes and dragging her back to the world of the living. Lincoln is looking down at her, a disappointed look on his face. Body language giving away his agitation.

Automatically tracing lines around his arm. Leaning forward, shoulders sagging a little. It’s clear he’s worried, the disappointed expression only serves to bring her anger back. It’s stopped short by his words.

_ “You’re being weak. You let your anger guide you. You do not trust your leader, and it will get you killed.” _ Octavia opens her mouth, intending to spit out an angry reply. Once again she’s cut off before she can get the chance.

_ “No Octavia. Anger not tempered will burn and settle into the hot coals of hate. It makes you brittle. Sharp, yes. But brittle like a badly tempered sword. It will make you uncontrolled. _

_ As you do not wish my help, you shall not have it. When you have your emotions under control, I will teach you. Until then, we cannot be together. I will not be your distraction.” _

Expression turned sadder and more resigned, mixing with the disappointment as he went on.

Annoyance and outrage clogged her system. Unable to give a satisfying reply, Octavia lifted herself up, wincing as bruises made themselves known. Looking up she finds Lincoln long gone.

——————

Head full of contradicting feelings about Octavia, Lincoln turned to walk away, still absentmindedly scratching lines around a spot on his arm. The spot that contained a mark showing his allegiance. His family.

It had been itching for a while now. Not a good sign.

_ She’s not been this upset for a long time. What has happened now? _

——————

**_I am you._ **

**_Ai laik Wanheda. (I am Wanheda)_ **

——————

Clarke lays on the ground, paralysed by pain. She’s hallucinating. Has to be. A voice is speaking to her. Her own voice, telling her familiar and reassuring things. Telling her new and unfamiliar things. Shocking things.

Some thoughts have been with her before. They’d become blurry as soon as they’d passed through, slowly dripping from her consciousness. Past memories only containing the faintest of impressions. Of not being in control of herself; of intrusive thoughts, and of a comforting presence in the dark.

The voice whispers to her still, attempting to convince her she’s not going insane. That’s she’s not a monster. That she’s not dying.

**_Clarke._ **

The voice has grown softer. Soothing. Like it’s attempted to calm a scared animal. Clarke knows it’s not far off. The moment pain had surged back through her body, panic had seized her. She had locked up. Been dragged to the ground by the pain. The voice is all that’s keeping her sane, but Clarke is scared by hearing voices as well. She’s stuck.

**_Clarke. Listen to me. You’re safe. Open your eyes please._ **

It feels like an eternity passes before Clarke manages to calm down enough to listen. She opens her eyes to a lush forest illuminated by a purple sky.

A silent forest, the only sound coming from her, should she decide to make any. A forest she is intimately familiar with, yet a forest that still secrets itself away from her.

The last of her panic attack recedes as the calm of this place lays a comforting weight on her. It washes away the pain, leaving her free to think. To move. To be. The tranquil silence is broken by a soft “Thank you”.

**_“Always.”_ **

A real voice this time. Just off to her side, sounding oddly familiar. Strong and full of promise. Trusting, but carrying an undertone of steel. It reverberates and echoes, but it is unmistakably Clarke’s own voice.

She turns, finally putting a face to the voice that has been with her for so long that she thought it her own.

The girl bears a close likeness to Clarke herself. She has long blond hair like Clarke, however one side is braided tightly against her scalp. The rest flows down and joins the braid, turning into a long braid reaching down to her waist.

She appears more athletic than Clarke, built for speed and agility rather than strength. With how similar, yet different their faces are they could easily be mistaken for siblings.

The most striking feature stares back at Clarke. Softly glowing, purple, eyes.

**_“Hello Clarke.”_ **

Somehow, Clarke had been expecting the visitor in her mind to look like her. Even though they speak with the same voice, relief flows through Clarke at their visible differences.

“Wanheda.”

**_“Indeed. Relax Clarke, I mean you no harm.”_ **

As odd as the situation is, Clarke is certain that she truly does not mean her harm. She feels familiar and friendly. And they’re in Clarke’s space.

**_“Our space actually. And I should hope I feel familiar. I’m you after all.”_ **

“You said that before. What do you mean you’re me?”

**_“Lexa told you a little of her people’s religion? Of the spirits?”_ **

Clarke nods, despite the awareness that Wanheda surely must know already.

**_“She is host to one. They are commonly known as the Spirit of the Commander. They are two separate beings, sharing a body. Sharing thoughts. Lending strength, knowledge, and wisdom to each other._ **

**_The Commander is an important spirit Clarke, especially to Lexa’s people. They are not the only one. Countless spirits roam the earth, helping the people. Always have, and always will.”_ **

A short yet pregnant pause follows, Clarke naturally preparing herself for the inevitable knowledge that will follow.

**_“I am one. Rather, WE are one.”_ ** She is interrupted by a gasp from Clarke who suddenly finds herself sitting. A boulder having appeared beneath her to support her weight.

**_“The Commander may be important, but they are young. Appearing with the death of the old world, rising as the flames of the Great Flames died down.”_** A sparkle of light catches Clarke’s attention, drawing it to Wanheda’s face. There, in the corner of her eye sits a tear, illuminated by the purple glow of her eyes. Face drawn with immeasurable sadness.

**_“We were there Clarke. We witnessed it all. Humanity, with all its beauty and splendor. With its compassion and heart. Witnessed as they embraced their darker side, and watched as they burned each other. We stood tall above their ashes Clarke.”_ **

Tears had started flowing freely, each a perfect gem glinting in the ethereal light of the forest.

_ “ _ **_It broke us. Again. Just like all the other times.”_ **

Clarke stands, unable to just sit there. Stands, and draws Wanheda into a crushing hug. Sadness roiling from her like waves. Clarke immediately feels better when she’s in contact with Wanheda. Feels whole. Wanheda seems to agree, body sagging and a small sigh leaving her.

Wanheda haltingly starts to speak again as Clarke draws gentle circles on her back.

**_“We stayed for a while. Helped the survivors and their Commander find a measure of peace. It didn’t last long. The Commander died, and we helped her. Her death birthed the beginnings of the Spirit of the Commander._ **

**_We loved her, Clarke. She was ours, but her death changed her. Hers was a tremendous soul. One that attracted a multitude of lesser spirits, each combining. Mended into one being. Vast and wise, but no longer OURS.”_ **

Taking a step out of Clarke’s grasp, she gestures at herself. **_“We left then. Left the humans to themselves.”_** Indicating with a sweeping gesture around them. **_“Retreated to our home.”_**

Unable to deny comfort any longer, Wanheda moves back into the embrace as Clarke asks: “The humans? Were you not human?”

**_“Oh Clarke.. We are the same. The same being. The same entity. I’m no more human than you are. I am simply a part of our being. That we had locked away. To keep us safe._ **

**_Clarke, we are OLD. Several eons. The memories are slippery and flimsy, getting lost in time, but we have watched earth blossom, die and blossom over and over.”_ **

**_“We have never been human Clarke. We simply are. The people of today call us spirits. We were the first. We were alone for a long time.”_ **

**_“We have had hosts since we withdrew from the world. The memories don’t really belong to us, but wisps of them remain. The world is in danger Clarke. This is why we separated. Why I was locked away. We prepared you, so that we’d once more walk among humanity as one of them._ **

**_We were meant to merge back into one when you had grown. The death of Atom made the first hairline fracture in our seal. Each death added another, building and reaching a critical point with the missile at TonDC. It broke into pieces when Lexa left us._ **

**_Even so, things have accelerated more than they should have. Have accelerated out of control. We have to fully merge. Become one in order to survive this.”_ **

**_“You and I, we’re needed Clarke. We have been through everything. We can deal with the serum. With Lexa. With everything that might happen. Together.”_ **

Clarke’s mind is spinning. As Wanheda had been speaking, memories flashed through her mind. Showing her things she could never have seen as simply Clarke. Showing her truth. History, observed through her own eyes.

Witnessing humanity through the ages. How nature had ebbed and flowed over, under, and across the earth through time.

Certainty builds within her. Clarke is certain of one thing. She feels whole. For the first time in her life, as she remembers it, Clarke has no missing parts. She feels strong.

Her eyes find those of her counterpart, and she gives a sharp nod. A flash of purple emanates from the both of them. Heat building in the air, making it grow hazy. Their outlines begin to blur in the air, making it seem as if they’re blending together.

From all around them, trees begin to rustle as the wind picks up. Sounding as though the world exhales with one voice.

“Together.”

——————

Clarke comes to with a pained groan. She might not have felt the pain while in her mind’s forest with Wanheda, but she’s sure feeling the aftershocks of it now. Her body aches, the only active pain left is her back, which feels even more battered and bruised. Still curled up into herself on the floor of the cave, Clarke cracks open her eyes.

She takes in the sight around her. The cave floor is scored with deep scratch marks and small rubble. Looking at her arms, she finds them a near match for Wanheda’s slim yet muscular frame. Her hands are coated in a mixture of dirt and small rocks. As she stretches and flexes, her fingers curl; nails extending to form claws.

Swiftly connecting the scratched cave floor with her newfound claws, Clarke pokes her other hand with one. It immediately draws blood, creating a shallow wound that oozes pure silver. A heartbeat passes and the wound has closed over, leaving just a patch of silver blood.

**_Well, that’s new. What else has changed?_ **


	6. Ch 6 - Natural Instincts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s nearly three weeks after the mountain. Monty has a very long day, and seeks solace with his friends, while Clarke.. Uh.. She’s a little overwhelmed right now, but she’s learning how to cope with the changes that she’s undergone.  
> Lexa has gone back to Polis to better manage the Coalition.

It had started the day after Clarke rescued them from the Mountain. The critically wounded had been tended to, and left sleeping in Medical. Smaller wounds had been triaged outside. The tentative quiet of camp had been broken by a crackling broadcast through the old space-station’s PA system.

Everyone had been told that leaving camp was no longer allowed. Guard patrols would be increased. Would be present during day and night. Everyone would be kept safe, kept prisoner, within the electrified walls of Arkadia.

Since then, only a handful of people had been allowed to leave. All of them guards. Adults. They had attempted to hunt, having come back empty-handed every time. Twice, Monty knew, they had only pretended to hunt.

The first time, he had seen them prepare. They had packed lighter, with additional empty bags. Abby had been briefing them, which was unusual in itself, but she had been telling them what supplies to gather. What to look out for. To bring back Clarke if they were to see her. Forcefully if necessary. She had told them to scavenge the Mountain.

Monty knew then, that he would be in trouble. He was right.

——————

With a heavy thud, the door slides closed. Angry mutterings from within the Council Chamber finally sealed in behind him. Relief surges through Monty with his quiet exhale.

They had finally let him go. Had believed him. The Council weren’t happy. Not happy at all, but he had been let go. 

The first expedition had been turned back when they had seen grounder warriors near Mt. Weather. They returned empty-handed, and Monty had only been questioned by Abby briefly. She had claimed to be worried about Clarke, but Monty had seen. Had seen her outburst in the Mountain after Clarke’s slaughter. Had heard her say that Clarke needed to be locked up.

He had truthfully stated that he didn’t know, having left before Clarke did. That had been over a week ago.

The Council had tried again, and this time the squad of guards had made it to the door. To the message Clarke had left behind. The decomposing body of President Wallace, and apparently a mark on the door. Made with the President’s blood.

The guards had brought back the body. As they walked through the gate, the smell emanating from the group easily explained the disgust and gagging noises coming from the group.

Shortly after, they had come for Monty. A group of five armed guards had approached him, politely informing him that the council had requested his presence in their Chamber. Immediately.

He had followed them out of Engineering, leaving an understanding Jasper and visibly confused Raven behind. That had been before lunch.

The thought of lunch made his stomach rumble, breaking Monty from his thoughts. His feet had led him back to Engineering. It is darker now, but both Jasper and Raven are still here. His nose tells him food is here too.

Having looked up at the footsteps and accompanying rumble, Jasper rushes towards Monty, checking him over to make sure he’s alright. Raven watches on with a playful glint to her eyes and exclaims: “You must be hungry to sound like one of my machines. Come over, we got food for you.”

Too tired to argue or explain, Monty simply collapses in the chair beside Raven. The food is bland, and he pays no attention to what it actually is, just happy to finally have something to eat. Unnoticed, Jasper and Raven trade concerned looks.

Curiosity finally wins the fight with his belly, and Monty stops eating to ask: “What time is it?”

Jasper is the one to reply, laced with concern. “Monty you’ve been gone for almost 11 hours. What happened? All the guards would say was that you were busy.”

A pregnant pause stretches between them, until Monty swallows around nothing. “They are angry. The Council. They wanted to know what we did. What Clarke did. Why the Mountain is locked down, “ another nervous swallow, “and they want to know how. They want to open it up.”

Surprise flickers over Raven’s features as she exclaims, “what do you mean they want to open it up? Why?”

“You saw what they had in there Raven. They didn’t say, but it could be anything. Medical supplies. Energy from the dam. Weapons. Shelter. But it’s also home to 674 bodies. It’s a tomb Raven, and they want to raid it.”

“Oh it’s a tomb for sure. The mess hall..” Invasive memories of screams and Clarke firing a gun invade Jasper’s mind. “You might not have seen it happen Raven, but you must have heard it? Seen it when you escaped.. It was horrifying.”

Frown forming, Raven gestures down towards the leg encased in a metal brace. “I was a little busy trying not to pass out. Didn’t really notice much of anything until we got outside, and the cool air hit me.” She paused. Frown deepening. “Abby helped me outside, but she did seem angry. And she went back inside as soon as we reached the surface..” She turns in her chair, rolling towards the workbench. “I wonder. Let me see..”

A frenzied cacophony of metal scraping against metal and dull thuds of plastic being tossed around picks up, interspersed with coos and murmurs of “that’s a good boy.” Eventually Raven sits up from her slumped position over the desk, with something that looks suspiciously like a grenade in her hand.

Jasper is the one to voice the question on both his and Monty’s minds. “Uh Raven? Is that a grenade?”

A smirk plays on her face, mischief lighting it up. “Of course not. Do you think I’d let just anyone see my grenades?” The pregnant pause is swiftly ended by a groan from Jasper. “Alright alright, it’s a microphone. If, say, this baby somehow ended up in the vents above the Council Chamber? Or perhaps the Chancellor’s Office?” A small outraged gasp for dramatic effect. “It’d be very unfortunate of course, I mean we might hear something we shouldn’t.”

——————

Self-loathing pushes her to move faster. To get away. She needs to escape her thoughts, having spun wildly out of control after waking up earlier. The roiling fury within her wants out; wants a target.

The Mountain Men had done this to her. Dr. Tsing had done this to her, and now Clarke regrets giving her such a swift death.

_She should have suffered more._

Claws. She has claws. They might pass for long too-pointy nails at a glance, but they are hard as rock. Harder, actually. Enough to score deep grooves in the floor of her cave. Hard enough for Lexa’s dagger to simple slide off with an ear-piercing screech.

They weren’t the only changes. Far from it, as Clarke had discovered when she had run the dagger against the newly extended claws. Her hearing was incredible, though in the moment she had cursed loudly as the sound pierced deep within her.

As she’s running through the forest, Clarke can hear the slight groan of trees around her. Can hear leaves cracking under the gentle weight of a small animal far from her. Smells the wet fur and the heavy scent of freshly dug earth. It’s overwhelming. It’s freeing. She hates it. She loves it. Feels whole. Feels new.

But, it’s too much. Too much change at once. The changes have left her disoriented and frightened, yet at the same time she feels in control, panic never once encroaching on her.

Still. Clarke needs something to focus on. Something to devote her focus to; something she can lose herself in. The instinct to run had been immediate, and she had given in without a thought, but it’s not enough.

**_Then train. Improve. Master our body and mind._ **

She’s no longer surprised to hear a voice in her head. They had merged, memories slowly flowing between them. However, neither of them are sure how long it would take for their thoughts to truly become one. Allowing both parts of a whole time to become accustomed to being one again.

_Will you teach me?_

**_Of course._ **

A pressure settles around her, which Clarke is now able to recognize; Wanheda is guiding her movements. Gently nudging her to the correct form, then _pushing_. She changes direction, heading back to her small camp, and they set a rapid pace back. Moving faster than ever before; faster than she ran from the Mountain with Anya. Unnoticed, her a wave of movement ripples across her claws, shimmering slightly with silver. Between one moment and the next, they melt back into the shape of normal nails.

She feels like she’s floating through the forest, making barely a sound as her feet hit the ground. It allows her to focus inward, on her emotions and thoughts. They are scattered and uncontrolled, but also denser than ever before. Faster. Like she’s been unchained.

Unnoticed by both Clarke and Wanheda, they move between the forest. Avoiding branches that would have scratched them. Jumps over unseen stones. Their perception greater, instinctive.

Out of the corner of her eye Clarke spots a long, mostly straight, branch. In a fluid move she jumps sideways, landing with a roll and continues her sprint, branch firmly in hand.

The rest of the trek passes in comfortable silence. The bond between them solidifying; growing thicker.

Clarke barely notices as they slide to a halt in camp, her body already settling into a once-familiar stance. The branch coming up, wielded like a battle-staff. Clarke lets go mentally, allowing herself to get lost in old memories and knowledge.

The staff swings forward, splitting the air with inhuman strength and grace. As the staff bears down, she shifts. Flowing lower, into a more defensive stance, she pauses.

A silence has grown around her. The wind is dying down. Trees no longer rustle. Nearby animals have stopped, sensing the predator amongst them.

A soft purple glow shines from her eyes. A smile finds its way onto her face, and she gives a gentle nod. Immediately, life returns to the forest.

Wanheda has returned to earth.

——————

Clarke and Wanheda have finally finished their training. Sweat flows down her body in small rivers and she is shaking like leaf in the wind; alternating between too hot and too cold.

She might be exhausted, but they had trained non-stop all day. Clarke had woken from her pain-induced talk with Wanheda at dawn. Had been overwhelmed and ran off immediately, only to come back to train extensively.

It was after dark now, and Clarke’s hunger has made itself known. It’s a burning void at the bottom of her belly, urging her to fill it.

She looks around the cave that’s become her home these past weeks. There’s no food, only the few berries she hadn’t been able to eat last night. Her stomach gives a violent rumble. She sighs and grabs her knife.

_Guess I have to go hunting. Again._

She catches her breath surprisingly quickly. The need for food clears her system of exhaustion. As she leaves the cave, she takes in the sight of the small meadow. It’s quiet and peaceful at night, with a small patch of glowing mushrooms off to one side.

_It feels_ **_like home._ **

She speeds through the forest, training already paying off. The fragment of her that is Wanheda stays firmly at the back of her mind, leaving Clarke in control. Still, Clarke has clearly improved, only the grass beneath her feet making small sliding noises as it’s moved out of the way.

She hears the rabbit before she sees it. Slows down to a crawl to eliminate the last noises she can hear. The smell of it reaches her then. It’s clean, no wet fur present. It smells healthy. Smells like food. Faintly, she hears the beat of a tiny heart near her, only a few meters away.

Before she knows it, Clarke has her hands around the neck of the rabbit. Snapped before it noticed her presence. A quick death; one Clarke doesn’t feel guilty for. The hunger has stoked it's flames, growing hotter and hotter.

A swipe of her hand, and the rabbit’s throat is slit; no dagger necessary.

**_Clarke._ **

**_Clarke!_ **

Clarke jerks back, mouth full of fur and raw meat. Looking down, she notices how she’s holding the rabbit.

It’s nestled in both her hands, held sideways to give easy access to the warm meat. A jagged wound marks where sharp teeth had torn through the skin, and into the flesh. It takes a second, but as the metallic taste of blood registers, she feels it drip slowly down her face.

**_Clarke? What just happened?_ **

——————

_“Heda you must! She is a danger to your position.”_ Titus pauses only to gather more air, needed to properly convey the strength of his belief. _“You need to take her power. Become host to both Heda and Wanheda!_

Lexa lets out a quiet groan. Again? Must be the third time today Titus has given this speech. His reproach over the situation with the Maunon had been clear in the letters carried between them.

At least then, Lexa could ignore him. Now that she’s back in Polis, she has to listen to him. An opportunity Titus has been making full use of, reprimanding her whenever they are alone.

She casts a longing glance towards the balcony door. Sometimes she wishes Titus was just an ambassador. Someone she could deal with. Permanently.

Unfortunately for her, Titus is one of her people’s most learned scholars. In his role as Flamekeeper he studies the spirits, and their interactions with this world. Past Commanders had appointed the Flamekeepers as advisers and religious figureheads.

Previous Commanders were fools, Lexa decides. She did not need a religious figurehead to interpret the Spirit of the Commander for her. She was closer with the spirit than any previous Commander. She could speak with them directly.

Right now, the Spirit is staying stubbornly silent, refusing to give in to her childish demands of removing Titus from his post.

Wishing she still had her dagger to calm her, Lexa looks up to find Titus quietly staring at her. Another groan slips through her lips as she tries to figure out how long he’s been watching her.

_“Titus - “_

She’s interrupted as the door to the throne room creaks open, a drained messenger stumbling inside before the door is closed behind him. He gasps out: _“Apologies for the interruption Heda. I bring urgent news from the village of Rappahan.”_

Lexa’s attention shifts fully to the messenger at the mention of news from another village. She waits patiently as the messenger quietly struggles to catch his breath, clearly having rode hard to get to Polis.

_“There’s been another attack. A group of six villagers were on their way back from gathering herbs when they were attacked. Five dead, two of them children.”_ The messenger visibly prepares himself for the last part, hoping it isn’t true.

_“One survived, if only barely. Heda, he claims the warriors that attacked them bore the clothes and facial scars of Azgeda.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all thank you all so much for the wonderful feedback! It’s honestly kind of overwhelming, but in a very good way!  
> I hope you’re all staying safe and taking care of yourselves and loved ones <3
> 
> I struggled a lot with this chapter, it ended up much shorter than I would have liked, as I had less time (and energy) to write. I also wasn’t sure about the first scene with Jasper, Monty and Raven. Not quite sure how much I want to give away at this point, and the pacing still feels a little weird to me. Especially since I’ve had less time to write lately. Please let me know what you think about it!
> 
> And on that note, how do you all feel about having multiple points of view per chapter? Do you prefer a single PoV? 
> 
> Finally, because it can’t be said enough: **I hope you have a good Pride and Black Lives Matter!**


	7. Ch 7 - Growing Emptiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa deals with the latest attack on her people and has to meet with the ambassadors to get some answers.

_ "One survived, if only barely. Heda, he claims the warriors that attacked them bore the clothes and facial scars of Azgeda.” _

——————

Titus has long been forgotten. Lexa’s attention is fixed solidly on the messenger in front of her. Another attack, in total 11 dead with only the one survivor.

_ If he is right.. If they were Azgeda.. _

If what survivor claims is true, it could be war. Would be. Her blood stirs slightly in anticipation. Nobody would dare deny her retribution. Deny her people justice.

Not again.

A detail stands out, demanding to be considered. The attack had occurred just outside of Rappahan. From what Lexa remembers, a smaller village with a few farms and some craftsmen.

A village well within the borders of the Trigedakru, at least a full two days ride from the Azgeda border.

As the messenger seems to have caught his breath, Lexa stands and walks towards the grand doors of the throne room. Not looking back, her voice carries through the room,  _ “follow me.” _

The rhythmic sound of leather boots hitting the floor catches up to her quickly. Titus hadn’t joined them, probably peeved with her for not listening.

_ Good. _

It doesn’t take long for Lexa to navigate the winding corridors of the tower she grew up in. She knows many of its secrets, so finding her way to the map room is never a challenge.

After a sharp nod to the guards stationed outside, the door is opened for her. Walking inside, she beckons the messenger follow her.

In the corner of the room hangs a large hand-drawn map, showing the territory and borders of Trikru. It’s covered in markings, where some show the location of villages and cities. Other lines mark well-trodden roads used by traders and dangerous areas to avoid.

Lexa motions to the map and asks  _ “where exactly were they attacked?” _

The messenger approaches the map and stands before it for a while. Studies it. Then, raising his arm to find Rappahan. His fingers trail from the village, to a spot marked with the solid green of the forest. A light blue scar running across it, joining with the larger river.

_ “Here, Heda. The map does not show it, but there is a clearing here, by the stream leading to the river.”  _ He points to the stream just above the indicated clearing.  _ “According to the survivor, this is where the attackers came from.” _

Stepping closer, Lexa grabs the red piece of chalk lying by the map. She draws a circle around the clearing, and a line showing where the attackers came from.

Standing back once more, Lexa looks over the map. Takes in the marks made in red, showing marks made in red. Mentally drawing a line between the attacks. It moves erratically, avoiding larger settlements.

Still, it could be multiple groups, but her gut instinct tells Lexa that a single group is attempting to make their way deep into Trikru territory. Closer to TonDC, and closer to the Maun-de.

_ Skrish. (Shit.) _

——————

Hurried footsteps flutter across the floor, interrupted occasionally by the scraping of wood on stone. As the sound dies down, quiet murmurs take its place.

A wooden thud sounds. Metal groans and clicks in place as the door to the throne room is locked.

Lexa lifts her hand from the armrest of her throne, palm forward. Immediately all sound dies out. Lifting her heard, Lexa looks out over the ambassadors of the twelve clans. She observes each in turn, slowly proceeding down the line; taking note of any suspicious body language.

_ “Ambassadors.” _

Lexa knows these people. Knows their preference for a lavish lifestyle. Politicians, with rare regard for their people; more interested in lining their own pockets. She knows how to speak with them, how to appeal to them; even knows how to be one of them when required.

And now, Lexa has to play the politician. Has to play their game.

_ “Another of our villages has been attacked. This time five were killed. Two were children, not yet old enough to be seconds.” _ She pauses to watch their reaction. Another attack on a village in the midst of the clans have clearly unnerved them. Attacks that have been carried out by unidentified people, for no apparent reasons. Attacks that have had no survivors, until today.

_ “Five died, but one has survived. Even heavily injured after the attack, he still managed to relay the details of the attack.” _

The ambassadors perk up at this, keen to hear any information a survivor might have about the attackers.

_ “The group had been out gathering supplies for the village healer, and were on the way back when they were ambushed. A group of warriors had been hiding by a stream, intercepting the villagers when they attempted to cross. _

_ According to the survivor, no demands were made. They attacked immediately after making themselves known.” _

Angry exclamations sound at this, the previous victims having been armed village guards. The clans have rules, formed from a long history of bloodshed.

To attack villagers in anything but self-defense is a guaranteed death sentence. Wamplei kom thauz kodon. (Death by a Thousand Cuts)

But to attack children? To attack those marked with healer’s clothes? In war, it would be considered a war-crime. Healers were sacred.

In times of peace? It would be a declaration of war. Any clan found guilty would find themselves facing the wrath of the remaining eleven clans.

Staring out over the room, Lexa takes in the outraged and nervous stances of each ambassador. They are rightfully nervous of rogue groups from their own clans.

_ “The survivor claims he was able to identify the attacker’s clan.” _

Snapping to attention, all conversations halting, the ambassadors fix intense stares on Lexa.

_ “He claims they bore clothes from Azgeda, and had the facial scars they are known for.”  _ Her gaze shifts to the Azgeda representative.  _ “Azgeda. Explain how your people came to be so far within Trikru territory.” _

Lexa observes him. Taking in how his fingers tap nervously against the armrest of the chair; how his eyes flicker between everyone, not finding a point of focus.

It doesn’t take long before his training kicks in, emotions washing off his face and body turning still and more relaxed.

_ “Excuse me Heda, but other than a single survivor, what evidence is there? I guarantee none from my clan would dare betray our Queen like this.” _

Lexa sighs. She had expected it to go like this, but had hoped it wouldn’t. She launches into an outline of the evidence provided by the survivor and how it appears to relate to the previous attacks.

Her stomach gently rumbles, reminding her that she still hasn’t had anything to eat.

_ Joken politics (Fucking politics) _

——————

The door slams behind her and she sets a furious pace, stomping down the hallways of the tower. The meeting with the ambassadors had dragged on for hours. It had changed from the attacks to attacking each other with barely polite insults.

Azgeda had raised issues with the evidence, and Lexa could only question them on the evidence she had. Which, she grudgingly admits to herself, is much less than needed to say for certain.

Then, the meeting had changed direction. Inquiries into her choice at the Maun-de. Disbelief that she had let the Maunon live. She had had to explain her actions, how she had saved several hundred of their people; people from across all the clans. How she had planned to split the army into smaller groups to prevent detection. How she had intended to wait for Skaikru’s retreat and organize another attack.

Everyone had accepted it. Nothing overly critical had been said, not against her or her choices. However, an underlying current of tension had flowed through the room, making the hair on the back of her neck rise.

Luckily, no mention had been made of Klark kom Skaikru, of Wanheda. They knew the Maun-de had fallen, and knew the Maunon had all perished. They were too smart to question, publicly at least, how the weak Skaikru had felled the Maun-de.

Lexa knows they have suspicions, might even know from their spies. She’s aware they will investigate; how they will send traders and craftsmen to TonDC, who will conveniently learn what happened.

Recognizes there is nothing she can do to prevent it.

Still, her gut instinct told her the Azgeda ambassador knew more than he let on. A feeling echoed by the spirit within her. As soon as the throne room had emptied, Lexa had called on Ryder, one of her most trusted guards. He had been instructed to increase the watch on the Azgeda delegation.

Lexa wants to know everything the ambassador and his staff does. Where they do, who they speak to. If possible, she wants copies of their correspondence; a step she has not taken before, but she will do everything to prevent another war. Her people aren't ready.

Lexa isn’t ready. Heda has to be.

Someone clears their throat in front of her. Lexa jerks back to reality, finding herself standing outside the door to her chambers. The guards posted on either side of the door observe her with worry; she’s normally more aware of her surroundings.

Lexa blames her racing thoughts and the hunger that howls for attention within her.

One of the guards motions gently to grab her attention.  _ “Heda, correspondence from TonDC arrived for you during your meeting.” _

She wants to complain, wants to let out the groan that’s building in her throat. She’s so tired. But that would be unbecoming of Heda. Heda belongs to her people, and Lexa cannot afford to show weakness.

_ “Very well. Please have some food brought up, as the meeting ran longer than intended.” _

As the door closes behind her, Lexa is finally able to let her guard down. Stumbling as the relief washes over her, she steadies herself using the table beside the door.

The feeling of coarse paper beneath her hand reminds Lexa of the correspondence from TonDC. She decides to get it over with, so she can finally get some much needed rest.

She settles at her desk, inspecting the message. It’s sealed with wax, a small engraving of a tree on top of the Trigedakru symbol.

_ From Indra. Either not important enough to send a messenger, or she wants to keep it between just the two of us. _

Her dragger is drawn in an automatic motion. The seal is sliced open, and the dagger returns to its sheath as Lexa unfolds Indra’s message.

It’s written in Indra’s neat and methodical script. Short and to the point, just like the woman who wrote it.

——————

_ Heda, _

_ The rebuilding of TonDC progresses as expected. As the damaged section of the city contained only barracks and guest buildings, we lost no goods or food for winter. _

_ I am having the broken buildings replaced with new sturdier log cabins, to serve as more housing for families and guests. As discussed, the northern barracks will be adequate for our warriors until the eastern barracks are finished. _

_ Skaikru are weak. They hunt little, and scare away the game from their camp. Only their guards leave the confines of their metal walls. _

_ My scouts inform me Skaikru are attempting to make farms within the walls. They act like cornered animals, fearing an attack at every corner. _

_ The outpost at the Maun-de reported multiple visits from the Skaikru guards. They had approached the entrance, and acted surprised at finding it closed. A scout observed several guards losing their stomach upon seeing Wanheda’s message. _

_ The body Wanheda had used for her message was taken, carried back to their camp. _

_ A few days later, they returned. This time, they brought more people. A larger contingent of guards, and two people whom Alexis recognized as Reivon and Montee kom Skaikru. The guards seemed to have to force them to the metal door. They were ordered to inspect and open it. _

_ Wanheda’s message appeared to have surprised Reivon, while Montee did not seem surprised. Alexis speculated he might have known what Wanheda had planned, as she observed both Wanheda and Montee leaving together. _

_ The two spent a long time inspecting the door, opening hidden panels, and doing things with their tek. Whatever they found, the guards did not seem pleased. Practically dragged both back to their camp at a rapid pace, ignoring the injuries and cries of pain from Reivon. _

_ I await your instructions. _

_ Indra. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, it's a bit shorter than I prefer, but I decided to share this instead of making you all wait even longer. I'm struggling a little with juggling full-time work with writing now that it's started back up again, but I want to see this story through just as much as you all!
> 
> On that note, thank you once again for all your kind feedback, it really means a lot that you're enjoying this story! Especially since it's the first story of mine that I've ever published :)


	8. Ch 8 - Monochrome Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke receives some night-time visitors. People she’s been expecting.

Clarke opens her eyes. It’s peaceful and quiet. Familiar. She knows where she is immediately. Back in her forest.

**_Our home Clarke, our realm. It’s not just a forest._ **

Home. Their realm. That had been an interesting concept for Clarke to accept. Interesting, but incredibly difficult. Clarke had liked to believe she was a person of logic, of science. Only to find out that she was never human in the first place. Had apparently been around since the birth of the Earth.

Headache setting in, Clarke steers her thoughts back to the present. Gently rubbing her temples, trying to settle her headache.

Looking around, there’s nothing but calm trees. Branches moving gently despite the lack of wind. The silence is calming and familiar. Sunshine bathes the forest floor in endless shades of purple.

And yet, there’s something missing. There’s no-one here to greet her. There’s nothing tugging at her. No feeling of being gently guided towards her goal.

**_That was me, Clarke. Now that we’ve merged, you have to learn how to navigate this place. It’s ours. We shaped this place Clarke. It’s an extension of us._ **

**_Simply be._ **

Deciding to follow the advice from her wiser self, Clarke stops. Stops moving. Stops worrying. She listens to the silence, broken only by her own heartbeat. Watches the sunlight reflect from dew on fallen leaves. Breathes in the slightly sweet air, still crisp from an unseen morning.

**_Accept that we are more. That we exist both in and outside this body._ **

She takes a slow breath. Focusing on herself, on the feelings that had shown up since merging with Wanheda. Since merging with her older self.

There’s so much. Sorry, despair, and anger. There’s boundless hope. Optimism, despite having seen civilisations crash and burn.

**_Forget about our human senses. Allow yourself to fully meld, even for just a moment. Allow us to become whole._ **

She struggles. The feelings within her threaten to overwhelm her. They feel right, feel like hers. The feelings bring memories. Knowledge. So ancient that Clarke feels the ground drop out from beneath her.

Her eyes are closed, but Clarke sees. The beginning, world molten and burning. She had been present. Young then. Watched as life had flourished. An impact striking the Earth and taking with it countless species.

Watches civilizations crawl from the ashes. Empires rise and fall faster than she can blink through the memories. Always present; always watching. Learning. Trying to help. Failing.

Species thrive. Species die. Some hide away. Some change, adapt.

More recent memories take on a certain duality. Older, from having been there. Newer, from having studied the past.

The world weeps as it burns. Angry bloody wounds forced into its skin by countless nuclear bombs. She remembers thinking it was the end. She would perish alongside everyone.

Recalls the feeling of watching so many species, so many lives, perished in moments. Those were the lucky ones.

The new world is different. More aware. Interconnected.

Clarke is no more. Does not feel the ground beneath her feet, nor the sunlight on her face. It’s no longer silent.

The world is vibrant, and Wanheda feels vast. Embraced, as if she is connected to the world around her. And finally she knows.

The whisper of voices, silent and indistinct, floats on the still wind. Lexa might say the dead are gone, but she’s wrong.

The dead are no longer living, but gone? No. The dead are just as hungry as the living.

The dead demand audience.

Wanheda shifts, awareness immediately realigning with the world around her. Starting to move, she flows through the underbrush. The forest moves with her, closing behind her and leaving not a single leaf disturbed.

Last time she had been here, it had felt like it took her years to find the meadow. Now it feels like seconds the trip has only taken seconds. Looking out from just behind the treeline, Wanheda observes.

The tree in the middle of the meadow stands strong as ever. Below it’s vast canopy, a large mass of people cover the ground. A group Wanheda has been anticipating for a while.

The inhabitants of Mount Weather have arrived.

——————

Hands clenching at her sides, Wanheda observes. Searches the crowd, analyses them.

They are made up of multiple smaller groups. The largest is of adults and older teenagers. Anger rolls off of them in waves, thickening the air with their hate. A small group of adults stand between them and a group of children.

There’s an almost visible difference in emotions between the groups. Where the main group has anger, the barrier group has relief and tension. The group of younger children smell of confusion. They look scared.

Wanheda aches for them. Ended by her hand far before their time. Her mind is made up.

**_The children are first._ **

She leaves the cover of the forest behind her. The people of the mountain are unaware of her presence. For now.

**_They do not have to see this._ **

Another step, and the world pauses. The people of the mountain are frozen in place. Time put on hold. Light frozen. Trees unyielding. Leaves stuck mid-air. Her shadow is left behind, like a cloak discarded on the floor.

She strides forward. Towards the children. As she nears she can still feel their anxiety. They were taken from their home, painfully so. She did this.

There are nearly two hundred children. So many lives. Innocents, yet she knows they would have been made complicit as they grew.

**_So much potential._ **

She hums. This time she knows the tune. Remembers all the times she has played it. Remembers it from when she was young. Does not remember its origin or who had sung it to her

It reaches out of her, both physically and as something more. Intangible and solid at the same time. It reverberates through her and into the meadow. Into the children.

**_You don’t need these._ **

Soothes them. Wipes away the memories of their death. The feeling of being burnt alive by poisonous air. They had not had a pleasant death. The pungent feeling of fear recedes from the air, leaving only confusion behind.

She allows them to move, returning time to them.

Like moths to a flame, they turn to her. Captured by the feeling of her presence. Of her striking figure, distinct with softly glowing eyes. Otherworldly.

They don’t speak, too caught up in the moment, but Wanheda understands, and she makes an effort to speak to them in English.

**“There was a battle. You were killed, but you were innocents. Undeserving of the death that was given to you.”**

Comprehension grows slowly but surely among the older children. They latch onto the young ones, protective instincts flaring when faced with danger.

They remember hiding. Remember hearing her threats, but at least they do not remember dying.

**“I will not have you suffer needlessly. Let go.”**

They do not understand, but instincts take over. Their souls remember this process. There will be no pain. Confusion shifts to acceptance, understanding. To gratitude. As one, the children burst, motes of light taking their place. This time the process is quick. None melt into her.

Wanheda understands. They owe her nothing, and she does not wish to take anything from them. Instead, a few purple specks of light rise from her, into the cloud of lights around her. They blink out of has to take a moment to steady herself. Feeling a little lightheaded from the energy she spent. Anger is building within her, making up for the loss of energy.

The group that had stood as a barrier for the children is quickly dealt with. They knew about the atrocities carried out in the mountain. They might not have agreed with it, but did nothing to stop it. At least they shielded the children from the knowledge.

**_Spineless cowards._ **

She does not spare them the memories of their death. Does nothing to soothe them, instead watching stoically as they move on to whatever life they will have next.

Only a few clusters of light descends upon her, loaded with genuine grief and relief at being away from that place. She allows them to settle on her, helping her regain some of her strength.

**_Time for some answers. Finally._ **

Wanheda turns towards the last group. Walks through the frozen crowd, searching for faces that might hold the answers she’s looking for. People she knows cannot be allowed to pass on.

She doesn’t find them, and before she can question the remaining people of Mount Weather, Wanheda is yanked from her realm.

——————

In the corner, dim blue light brightens; Monitor powering back up from sleep mode.

**Standby Initiated.**

**Press any key to continue…**

The text is present for just a second. The screen blanks, blue light transforming to the not-quite black of a lit screen.

**Monthly Self-Check Initiated.**

A light flares up across the cavern, throwing large obscure shadows throughout. It wavers for a second, before dying out. Beside it, another light appears.

Each flash of light is accompanied by a mark on the screen. It builds, grows into a progress bar.

The process repeats, slowly moving down the length of the cavern at ground height. Reaching the end, the light jumps up higher on the wall, racing back.

Then, offset from the wall. Running up, jumping high and back down. Another offset, another repetition. Eventually the lights cross the void of the cavern, reaching the wall.

As the process nears the monitor, the light crosses a spot on the wall with no light.

Instead the ancient and fading paint of bold black lettering is illuminated.

**Mount Weather Emergency Operations Center**

**Level 10**

The screen flickers quickly to show the result of the diagnostic test.

**Self-Diagnostic complete.**

**Project: [Redacted]**

**Contact: Head of Medical, Dr. Clarke Griffin**

**System Status: Operational.**

**Power Supply: Operational. Battery backup at 98%**

**Capacity: 45%**

**Li**

The report is interrupted as the screen briefly goes black. As the light comes back, the text has been replaced with the initial message.

**Standby Initiated.**

**Press any key to continue…**

——————

The scream pierces the nights. Clarke is moving before her thoughts have a chance to catch up. She sleeps in her clothes, now lightly armoured with pieces of leather from her hunts. Her dagger remains strapped faithfully to her side.

Frustrated and distracted by thoughts of questions she won’t get answers to, Clarke pays less attention to her surroundings than usual. Stumbles over her improvised staff. Picks it up as she rushes out.

Moonlight bathes the clearing outside the cave in bright light. Almost feels like a monochrome morning. Echoes of the scream are dying down, and Clarke has trouble pinpointing a direction.

Her visit to the spirit forest jumps at her. Her lesson learned, Clarke tilts her head and stills. The clearing brightens further, details sharpening. The scent of the forest becomes more pronounced, carrying with it the metallic tinge of blood. Wind bites at her uncovered shoulders, conveying direction.

Her ears hone in on the sounds of indistinct shouting. Metal crashing and scraping against metal.

Clarke sets off into the forest, establishing a steady pace. Still slightly weakened from her trip to her spirit forest. Pace faster than a normal run; conserving her strength the fight.

A metal snap sounds off to the side. Then, a loud pained yelp. Clarke stops in her track, gut feeling forcing her to stop. She knows she has to make a decision. Can hear the fight slowing down.

A second yelp is followed by quiet whining. Something within Clarke twists painfully.

Unfamiliar instincts take over. Forces her to turn. Focuses her attention on the sound. Something, someone, is in pain. Clarke will not have it. Her head swivels, ears and eyes trained on the surroundings. She prowls forward, forcing her way through bushes.

She needs to get to it. A need that burns insistent within her.

A wolf cub. Small and injured, hind leg trapped in a metal vice. It turns at her approach, weary pale blue-green eyes locking with hers. Widening as it observes her.

The wolf’s head turns slightly in submission. It attempts to crouch, but is unable. Tail curling up underneath itself.

Fear coils heavily in Clarke’s nostrils. The wolf is terrified, like she’s seen a ghost. Clarke hates being feared. The wolf shouldn’t fear her. Ever. Clarke would rather die than harm one of her own.

She approaches slowly, hands held out palms up. Small unfamiliar noises leave her throat. Reassuring words mixed with guttural sounds. Clarke isn’t sure where it’s coming from, but it seems to calm down the frightened animal.

Eventually the wolf allows her to get up close. She inspects the injured leg, luckily finding only shallow cuts. The trap is built to capture, not maim. Clarke’s not sure what would be worse.

She runs her hand down the back of the wolf, trailing lightly over the injured leg. Searches for deeper injuries, broken bones. Finding none, Clarke grabs either side of the metal trap and forces it back open.

The wolf stays still. Watching her with fearful eyes, and Clarke dies a little inside.

Another scream, weaker this time, rends the air, and the wolf looks even more anguished. Clarke knows she needs to leave.

**_“Please stay here. I’ll come back and help you.”_ **

She swears she sees comprehension, but receives no response. She sighs and nods, knowing the wolf will be gone when she returns.

She abandons any attempt at conserving strength, instead rushing towards the fight as fast as she can. Dodging between trees and ducking branches, Clarke still winds up with a few scratches.

What feels like seconds later, Clarke comes upon the site of the attack. Two armed warriors stand in front of a clearly injured woman. Her body is littered in cuts, some bleeding profusely. Her left arm hangs loosely, while the right shakily points a sword towards the warriors.

Beside the woman lie the body of a man with several arrows embedded in the chest.

At the sight of arrows, Clarke swiftly continues her scan of the area, cursing her lack of practice.

Two bodies, wearing the rough and warm looking clothes of the warriors lay scattered. A fallen bow by one. The soft creak of a bowstring being pulled catches her attention.

Clarke launches into a roll, hearing the snap of an arrow being released as she does. She comes up, target spotted. Her dagger flies from her fingers, finding its home in the neck of the archer.

His body falls from the tree. It lands on the ground with a meaty thud, catching the attention of the last two warriors. They’re well trained. Scarred faces lock onto Clarke.

They have swords. Clarke grimaces. She should have thought this through. Should have been more stealthy.

Shouting words in a language Clarke doesn’t understand, the warriors advance on her.

She focuses; remembers her training with Wanheda. Drops into a defensive stance for multiple attackers, brandishing her staff.

It happens quickly. They rush her, attempting to overwhelm her with brute strength and speed. A sword whips at her, slicing through the air. Her staff will break if she blocks.

Instead, Clarke moves closer. Jabs her staff sideways. Upwards. Catches one warrior off-guard. His head snaps backwards as the full force of Clarke’s jab hits him from underneath the jaw. A follow-up elbow crushes his windpipe, dropping him to the ground.

_ He’ll be dead soon. _

The hair at the back of her neck rises. Feels the oncoming wave of air before it hits. Clarke side steps, avoiding the worst of the swipe. The sleeve of her jacket splits, a shallow cut digging into her upper arm.

Angry with herself for getting injured, her focus turns to the remaining warrior. The warrior pauses for a moment, her facial scars twisting into an ugly grimace as she stares at Clarke with undisguised fear. Her face illuminated by the purple of Clarke’s eyes.

The warrior utters something in surprise, but Clarke takes the opportunity to end the fight. With all her strength, she slams her staff into the side of the warrior’s head. Her staff cracks in two on impact, and the warriors skull visibly caves in.

After catching her breath, Clarke checks. They’re dead. She rushes towards the bleeding woman. She’s slumped down against the tree. Still breathing, but Clarke knows she’s dying.

There’s nothing she can do to help her.

Clarke expects fear and disgust as the woman looks upon her. She does not expect gratitude. The woman struggles noticeably as she reaches her good arm out. Feebly grabbing at Clarke’s hand. Weakly pulling her closer.

She’s at the end. Clarke knows it due to her medical knowledge. Wanheda feels the woman’s life slipping between her fingers. Can practically already see motes of light escaping her with each breath.

_ “Th-thank y-you.. W-wanheda..” _

_ “P-pl-please.. F-find he..” _

A final exhale. This time, a few flecks of light actually do leave her. Reaches out, settling on Clarke. Leaving her with a lasting impression of family. Of connection. The last mote settling on her, and Clarke receives a brief glimpse of a young girl.

**_“I will. I swear.”_ **

Reaching out, she gently closes the woman’s eyes, leaving behind a few trails of blood. 

**_“May we meet again.”_ **

Tears are flowing down her cheeks. It feels like she just lost a dear friend, a parent. Someone important to her, yet she doesn’t understand why.

It drives her. She gathers firewood, erecting a pyre. Small, but it will be enough. She gathers the woman gently, placing her on the pyre. Then the fallen man beside her, removing the arrows in the process.

She hates to do it, but survival requires it. She strips them. She takes the armour, their weapons and travel packs. Leaves them in their clothes.

The warriors she strips entirely. They deserve no dignity in death. Piles them spitefully in a haphazard pile.

Everything is ready. Clarke lights a torch.

**_“Yu gonplei ste odon.”_ **

The pyre crackles as it catches fire. Illuminates the dense forest around her. Blends with the light of the approaching dawn.

Building a small sled from some branches and newly torn strips of clothes, Clarke loads it with the weapons and armour found. Gently places the belongings of the woman and her companion on top.

Doublechecking, Clarke verifies that she has Lexa’s dagger with her. The staff is broken, beyond repair. But that’s fine, she intends to use the warrior’s swords instead.

Just as she leaves, inspiration strikes her. Clearly people already know who she is. The title she carries. What she is. Decides. Fear can be useful. She doesn’t like it, but like any useful tool, Clarke will use it.

Grabbing Lexa’s dagger once more, she approaches the pile of naked warriors. With deft movements, she carves a celtic knot into the forehead of each warrior. Carves her mark into her flesh.

Leaves an indisputable message.

**Do not anger Wanheda.**

——————

The wolf has left. Clarke isn’t surprised, though she feels a surprising sense of loss.

The walk back had felt long. Mind occupied with too many thoughts. Too many problems, and too many questions.

_ Thank you Wanheda. I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you. _

**_Clarke, that was all you. I did not take control._ **

_ But I felt you? You were right there. _

**_It was all you. You accepted we are one._ **

Their discussion is interrupted by the light of the newly risen sun. It hits Clarke’s hand, blood still clinging to it. She hadn’t noticed during the monochrome light of the moon, but now she sees it clearly.

Blood. Not her own, her wounds had closed long ago, leaving only a small patch of silver on her jacket.

Black blood. Dark as night, gently reflecting the light of dawn.


	9. Ch 9 - Nothing Here, Nothing There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke had a successful hunt, and enjoys some freshly cooked rabbit with a friend.  
> Monty's been preparing for the worst, and puts his plan in motion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes: So sorry about the delay in updates! I had intended to update weekly, but with the current situation of #metoo affecting my industry and close friends, I haven’t really been able to take my mind off it to sit down and write. I hope the victims finally get justice and that the systems change. It’s been out of control for far too long.
> 
> This current chapter also fought me a lot. I’ve had to rewrite it completely, as it just didn’t feel right compared to my outline. It still feels off, but it’s a lot better so I hope you enjoy it! <3

Raven is exhausted. Only just freed from her wheelchair, and already forced back to work. Her leg aches. Throbs with every beat of her heart. An uncomfortable and painful reminder of the bullet in her back. A bullet Abby thinks she can remove, but an operation Abby the Chancellor considers too risky.

They need engineers. Mechanics. The Ark is broken. Twisted and torn, just like Raven. But she’s too valuable. They won’t risk operating on her. Will accept a slight loss in performance, but under no circumstances will the Council accept losing her. She’s a prisoner.

Instead, Raven is required to take pain killers. Under observation. Hates how they make her feel. Sluggish and with lowered reactions. Less aware. She feels suppressed and she hates it.

Their trip to the Mountain had only made it worse. They had been furious with her. Unable to get them access, they retaliated against her. Raven had been stuck in the wheelchair for another week. They had taken her painkillers. Forced her to endure both the ache of her leg, and the withdrawals.

“I’m so fucking done with them Monty. Those bastards can take their complaints about useless junk and go float themselves. We have bigger problems, and they know it.”

“I know Raven. The Council is clueless. Locking us all within the walls? Not letting us hunt? Farm? It’s like they think the Mountain is all they need.”

Raven just shrugs. She knows it’s no use arguing. They’ve been over this too many times already. Looking around the Engineering Bay, she knows they’re screwed. Too many things to maintain. Too few supplies and engineers, and a Council that will not accept excuses. They’re trapped, and she’s not sure she can find a way out. Not this time.

“What are we going to do, Monty? We can’t leave. Not with my leg, and not with the Guard around..”

Monty looks up from his tablet and focuses his attention fully on Raven. A tear slowly rolls down his cheek as he tries to respond. There’s too much going on. Too many things that could go wrong.

“Raven, I think we have to. They’re trying to break you.. Refusing to treat your leg, and then with the drugs? It’s not safe for us to stay here.”

_It’s only a matter of time before they succeed._

“If they make us go to the Mountain again, and if we can’t get in? I don’t think they’ll accept our excuses again, Raven. Clarke made herself President. She owns the Mountain, and I don’t know what she did to lock it down. But knowing her? Whatever it is, it won’t be friendly.”

“I know, Monty. I know. It was only when you opened that hidden panel that we even found anything. And I couldn’t even get it to respond! And the door! It was locked down harder than when we attacked. I doubt we’d be able to blow it open with the few suppli-”

A knock interrupts their discussion, and they hurriedly return to work. The Guard has started making random visits and they do not need to be caught talking about treason. A second knock follows the first, and then repeats much faster.

The sequence they had established if there was important news. A panel pops out, sliding down to reveal Jasper’s excited face.

“Guys, come on. You need to hear this!”

——————

“Ma’am, the mines are flooded.”

The voice crackles, and ends with a heavy click. It comes across tinny and distorted through the small speaker. Whoever spoke must have used a radio, as they can still hear Abby swearing. Seconds later, a sigh can be heard.

“Flooded? What do you mean flooded?!”

Raven, Monty, and Jasper all flinch back as the angry screech pierces through the air. As one, they share a look. All thinking the same thing.

_What mines?_

“All entrances known to us are. It’s deep, nearly reaching the surface. We inspected the dam, and the water level has fallen a fair bit. We suspect a tunnel wall must have caved in.”

“According to the kids, Clarke used the mines to enter Mt. Weather. A cave-in is too convenient. I don’t buy it.”

A pregnant pause fills the air. Significant glances are exchanged between the trio. Clarke had to have done it. They’re not sure how, but the reason why seems clear. Clarke did not, does not, want the people of the Ark to have access to Mt. Weather. The place is a fortress, and once again people desire the safety of its walls.

The speaker crackles again, and the voice of one of the guards comes through.

“We’ll secure the area and set up camp for tonight. I’ve got a few men looking for additional entrances or overlooked escape routes. We’ll find a way in.”

“Good. I want your squad back by noon tomorrow. If you don’t find anything, we’ll bring our engineers. Force that damn door open, whatever it takes. We need safety against the weather. And the savages.”

“Yes Ma’am. Understood.”

The radio clicks off, and for a moment there is silence. The hiss of a door opening and closing has the trio waiting anxiously for a second, but there is nothing to be heard.

Looking towards Monty and Jasper, Raven swallows hard. She knows it’s necessary, but she’s so damn scared. She’s weak, and she hates the feeling. Forcing a sense of bravado into her tone, she starts.

“You’re right. We need to leave. Tonight.”

They both nod. Monty and Jasper both knew it would come to this, and have prepared in secret. They’re not done, not at all. But they won’t be leaving empty-handed.

“Ok. There’s a few things we need to get. Most importantly your medicine, we can’t risk you going through withdrawals again Raven. And we need to walk a lot, so you’ll need it. Jasper how much do we have?”

“Not a lot. They’re still keeping strict records on Medical. If we leave with what we have? Maybe enough for four days. Maybe.”

Seeing the fearful look passing over Raven at the thought of not having enough painkillers, Jasper weighs up the risks.

“I’ll try to get more but it won’t be a lot, Raven. It’s only made in small batches, and with Farm Station not being here, we simply don’t have the resources to make more.”

“Thank you Jasper. It’s awful, but if we’re going to be moving, I’ll need it. We also need tools and weapons. We can’t get into the Armoury on short notice, but I have a few goodies lying around.”

Dividing up the remaining tasks, they quickly head out to avoid detection. Needing to stay below the radar for as long as possible. Leaving is risky, but being careless would be foolish.

——————

She’s being watched. The hairs on her neck have raised in warning. Her skin crawls with unease. Clarke pretends not to notice, continuing to skin the rabbit she’s holding. Her other catch is already slowly cooking over the fire. Pretending to inspect her meal, she adjusts it slightly while scanning the tree-line for threats; her dagger clutched tightly.

There. Low in the bushes, across the small clearing. A single pair of reflective blue-green eyes are staring back at her. Curiosity and worry illuminated by the dim light of the mood and Clarke’s fire. She immediately relaxes. Lowering her voice to be as soothing as possible, Clarke calls out:

_“Hey you. Not scared of me anymore?”_

There’s movement in the bush, but no reply.

_“Well. Do you want to come sit with me? Promise I won’t bite.”_

A low whine sounds from within the bush, laced with a strong hint of pain. Concentrating on her senses, Clarke picks up a faint scent of fear carried by the wind. The wolf is still hurt. Is still afraid, and Clarke aches. Protective instincts that had awakened when she met the wolf still haven't calmed down in the days that have passed. Clarked had searched. Found the occasional trail, but somehow the wolf evaded her.

It had stayed in the area, but avoided Clarke to the best of its abilities. And now the wolf pup is back. Still hurt. Has someone hurt it? Hunted it?

The bush rustles again, and the wolf slowly steps forward. A slight limp in the leg that had been caught in the trap. Clarke itches to get to her. To help her; soothe her pain. But Clarke knows she has to wait. Has to let the wolf come to her, let her build trust. Every few steps the wolf sniffs and glances at the slowly cooking rabbit. Clearly it’s not just company she seeks.

Deciding to let the wolf move at her own pace, Clarke continues cleaning the last rabbit. Slow and steady movements quickly separate the pelt from the rest. It’s getting colder at night, and Clarke remembers her Earth Studies classes well. Winter will come, bringing with it a biting cold. Will chase away prey. Clarke is terrified.

She could go back to Arkadia. Could go to Lexa. She’s not ready. Isn’t sure she will ever be. Gaining back her other half has changed her. Improved her. The silver serum changed things. Altered her in ways she hadn't expected. In ways she doesn’t yet understand. Her senses are still improving, becoming second nature. Physically she’s stronger, faster. Whenever she rolls her shoulders, she’s reminded of a growing tightness and bruised skin on her upper back. Lately she’s had to sleep on her side, propped against the wall, just to prevent the pain from keeping her awake.

And the worst? It’s not done. There’s more pain to come. More changes to endure. She knows from glimpses and dreams that she doesn’t fully understand. Theories that she recognizes as not quite her own, yet still familiar. Wanheda has hunches, playing them out as simulations in her mind. They’re blurry, playing out faster than she can comprehend. All Clarke receives is a sense of wonder and amazement.

Another whine breaks her from her thoughts. The sound flows through her, filling her with understanding. Sounds almost like a different language. She knows she shouldn’t understand, but Clarke does. The wolf is hungry. Ravenous. Hasn’t eaten since being freed from the trap. The limp prevents her from hunting.

_Do you even know how to hunt? You’re so young.._

Grabbing her knife, Clarke cuts a generous piece of meat from the uncooked rabbit. She looks over, and finds the wolf has moved much closer. Yet she still maintains a healthy distance, clearly wary of Clarke. And the knife.

_I’ll prove myself to you if I have to. I’ll protect you. I swear._

Clarke gently pats the ground beside her; a clear gesture for the wolf to come closer. She stays still for a moment, eying the piece of meat in Clarke’s hand. Realising Clarke is serious, the wolf gives in.

Handing over the meat, Clarke takes the opportunity to inspect the small wolf. She’s younger than Clarke had thought; the light of the fire showing the true size. The wounded leg has been cleaned, but a few dried drops of black blood remains.

_“No more running off alone, understood? Your leg needs to heal and running around will only make it worse, so stay close. Let me help. Please.”_

Head turning slightly in understanding and defeat, the wolf lets out an affirming whine. Clarke’s face lights up with a smile, and she cuts off another slice of meat. It’s eaten quickly, but with surprising care and cleanliness.

_“Good girl. See? I’m not so scary after all.”_

Clarke hadn’t expected these feelings. Doesn’t know why they appeared the moment she found the wolf. An overwhelming instinct to protect, one that has always burned intensely within her. But never so fast. And never quite this hot. There’s a space in Clarke’s heart, ready and waiting for the wolf to join her family.

But family shouldn’t be nameless.

_“You need a name, but what should I call you? Hmm..”_

Names run through her mind, and Clarke limits herself to names that would fit in with the culture on the ground. There’s no space for old-world names in this time. She’ll adapt. They’ll adapt.

Clarke barely has two words on her list when the wolf makes a small sound. Like before, it travels through Clarke. Morphs from animalistic sound to a language she understands. The voice is young, coming across with a mixture of fear and devastation. Loss. Looking down, Clarke sees hope and budding trust shining in the wolf’s eyes.

_**“Madi. Ai laik Madi.” (Madi. I am Madi)** _

Assuming her ability to suddenly understand wolves comes from Wanheda, Clarke moves to comfort Madi. She reaches out with her hand, palm up. Meeting no resistance, she slowly and gently starts running it down Madi’s fur. It doesn’t take long before Madi begins to relax. Tension built from pain slowly melting away. They sit in silence for a few minutes, until Clarke can’t stay silent any longer. There’s a question that’s been on her mind for a while, and this time she’s certain she’ll get an answer.

_“Madi it is then. Can you tell me why you aren’t with your pack, little one? Why were you so scared of me?”_

Madi tenses. Curls up around herself, pushing her head under Clarke’s hand. Eyes glinting with unshed tears vacantly fixed on the forest around them. She’s vulnerable. Injured. Afraid. A despairing whimper escapes.

_**“Death.”** _

——————

They’re ready. Well, almost.

Raven and Monty had gathered a few tools, having to limit themselves on both size and weight. For weapons, Raven picked out a few improvised grenades, and some shock batons she had been repairing. Nothing long-range. Lincoln had warned them against bringing guns. The Armoury had been locked, the risk too high. Monty had grabbed his treasured tablet and a backpack he had packed ahead of time.

Raven had had to take another round of painkillers, under the watchful eyes of a guard. It’s already making her more tired. She’s leaning against the outer fence, to preserve her strength. She turned off the electricity for this section, and she doubts they have long before it’s discovered.

He arrives silently, barely making any sound on the dew covered grass. Quickly glancing around before nodding at Monty and Raven. Lincoln hands over his small pack to Monty, who will carry everything, while Lincoln guards them and helps Raven.

He had helped Monty and Jasper prepare for days. Tucking away small caches of food and medicine in the forest, while pretending to train the Guard to hunt effectively. They’d failed. Hadn’t listened, and assumed they knew best. They were worse than children. Loud and scared away any game.

Lincoln had assured them that he hadn’t been banished. Had rubbed his lower arm, tracing circles around a spot. Had said he’d feel it if he’d been banished, while giving Monty a heavy look.

“Did you see Jasper on your way here?”

Lincoln shakes his head in a negative. He had walked past medical, but had seen no sign of Jasper. In fact, it had been surprisingly quiet. Good for Lincoln, but suspicious. He didn’t see Octavia either, which is probably for the best. She still hasn’t forgiven him for calling her weak. He must have been right.

Raven spots the growing worry and restlessness within Monty. He wants to go looking for Jasper, but they can’t afford the risk. They need to leave. Soon.

“Monty.”

“Monty. We’ll wait for a few minutes, but you know we can’t risk getting caught. He knows what to do.”

“I know, I know. But five minutes. Please.”

Sharing a knowing glance with Lincoln, Raven nods. They can afford five minutes, but not much more.

Silence descends over them, growing oppressive as they wait. It’s late at night and the air has a distinct chill to it. Lincoln looks comfortable and relaxed, but he repeatedly scans their perimeter. There’s no one around. No shouts of alarm. Nothing to give away the fact that they’re leaving.

A guard is barely visible in a tall watch tower on the other side of camp. A dark human shape against a bright moon.

Raven sighs. It’ll be difficult without Jasper. They’ll come back for him, but they can’t risk waiting around any longer.

“We have to leave. We’ve given him too much time already. We need to go before they decide to check up on us.”

With Lincoln’s help she manages to slide the metal panel aside. She inspects it quickly, and double checks her tools. Then enters, and quickly slides through the opening. Once on the other side, she slowly climbs out. Gestures for Monty to throw their bags through. Monty comes next, with Lincoln following closely behind.

He reaches in, and following Raven’s instructions slide the panel back in place. They re-attach the outer panel to cover up their escape route.

With a click of a button the electrical fence hums back to life, just as the sound of an alarm sounds.

Raven shares a panicked look with Monty, while Lincoln winces at the loud sound. They know. Jasper must have been caught, or someone reported them missing. Raven throws her arm over Lincoln’s shoulder and they set off in a fast run towards the forest. They need to get away before the Guard swarms out.

Raven’s injuries slow them down, but they set a good pace. Looking back, the gate hasn’t been opened. Not yet. Orders are shouted and doors slam open and closed. The guard in the tower has definitely been alerted, and is scanning the area with a powerful flashlight.

Metal grinds against metal as the gate is forced open. They’re almost to the edge of the forest when the light hits them. Their position and direction is shouted out.

Just as they set foot amongst the trees, the bark of a rifle quiets the world. Pain lances through his side. Monty stumbles but carries on with visible effort. They need him.

A small patch of skin on his arm tingles and burns.

——————

On top of the Ark, someone sits unobserved.

Looking down as Raven, Monty, and Lincoln gather by the fence. Considers calling out or joining them, but stays quiet. As they climb through the fence, the location of the loose panel is noted. They shake their head as the electricity is turned back on.

_Well there goes that option._

The alarm is a surprise for everyone. Not quite as important as to those on the ground. Still, the person gets up to hide behind metal outcropping. Would not be good to be spotted spying. Need to be back inside soon, in case the Guard will do a headcount.

They wince as Raven’s limp is noticed. Running across a field with an injured leg like that has to be painful. Whatever has her running must be important. The gate has been opened, and Guards spill out past the gate, onto the cleared field around Arkadia. The guard in the watchtower finally spots the escapees with his flashlight.

The bark of a rifle draws the attention of the quiet observer. The shot has completely stopped the rush of guards. An officer bellows at the offending guard, while dragging him back inside the walls.

“You idiot! We need them alive!”

The remaining guards look unsure of what to do. By the time they continue their pursuit, it’s too late. Raven, Monty, and Lincoln are gone. Lincoln and his knowledge of the forest guarantees they won’t be found.

_Good luck. Don’t know if I’ll be able to help Jasper, but I’ll keep an eye out for him. You might not forgive me, but I need to try._

——————

Clarke gently strokes Madi’s fur. She had curled up against Clarke after eating. Finally feeling safe, exhaustion had crashed down on Madi. Once deeply asleep, Clarke had cleaned the dried blood from her hind leg, applied a poultice to help keep it clean and wrapped a small bandage around it. The wound isn’t too serious, just skin and surface muscle that needs to grow back together. Luckily no broken bones, despite the powerful metal trap.

Thinking about Madi has helped Clarke immensely the last few hours. Anxiety had shot through her, making her restless. Having someone to help had settled her, given her a focus.

Now though, the anxiety is growing within her. Unexplainable. She is safe and comfortable within her cave, a small fire lighting it and keeping them warm. There should be no anxiety.

A phantom pain shoots through her, and Clarke briefly winces before shaking it off. Fingers trailing over the spot on her side. Something forces itself to the forefront of her mind. Monty stumbling into a forest, grabbing at his side, and then running off.

_Monty? What’s happened?_


	10. Ch 10 - Writing's On The Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monty has pressing issues to deal with, such as finding shelter. And you know, not bleeding out.

Just as they set foot amongst the trees, the bark of a rifle quiets the world. Pain lances through his side. Monty stumbles but carries on with visible effort. They need him.

A small patch of skin on his arm tingles and burns.

——————

_Float me._

Monty staggers forward, pushing past the rapidly increasing pain to lean against a tree. They haven’t gone far, stopping shortly after entering the forest. The worried eyes of Lincoln and Raven dart to his torso. Taking in the dark patch steadily growing on his shirt, blood dripping from the bottom.

His hand roam down his side, scanning for injuries. The wound above his hip makes Monty gasp and flinch when he brushes against it. He checks the back, blood-soaked clothing leading to the entry wound.

_At least the bullet went through._

Expecting panic to set in within moments, Monty instead finds a detached sort of calm settling over him. Reactions slow and pain dulls slightly. Reassures him that he’ll be fine, whatever happens. Long-forgotten medical advice spills from the recesses of his mind.

The memory of Clarke treating Jasper’s spear wound invades his thoughts. The imprint of her voice gently echoes, clear even over Monty’s own harsh breathing.

_Open wound. We have to apply pressure._

Applying pressure. Yes, that will probably help. But they’re not safe.

_Monty_

The Guard could be here in moments. They need to move; need to get to safety. Monty has prepared for this.

“Monty!”

The words are hissed. Raven stands right in front of him, worry visibly eating at her. Receiving no response, she grabs his arm and shakes lightly. The tingling patch on Monty’s arm suddenly flares. Grabbing his attention completely, temporarily blocking the pain. A thought forces its way to the forefront, demanding to be heard. Silencing everything else. Comforting, sounding like Clarke.

**_Focus. Get to safety._ **

Raven clearly has had enough of not getting a response. Something tightens around Monty, and pain shakes him out of his thoughts. Quickly looking down, Raven is finishing tying her jacket around his waist as a makeshift tourniquet.

It fits oddly, pressing against him. Still, blood is soaking the material quickly, and he knows they do not have long. Clarke’s voice still echoes through him, and Monty knows exactly where to guide them.

“Thanks, Raven. We won’t be able to make it to TonDC, but I know a safe place Clarke showed me.”

Lincoln gives him a once-over, followed by a sharp nod. Clearly agreeing that they can’t go long tonight. Monty winces, but sets off into the forest at a good pace. No time to lose. They need safety.

Raven and Lincoln follow close behind, obscuring their tracks as they go.

————

The trek through the forest had been frantic, but they had made it. Finally. Safety within their grasp. The metal hatch groans and creaks, but slowly it gives way. Raven and Monty stand aside, supporting each other as Lincoln pulls the door to the bunker open.

Raven steps forward, flashlight powering on. She peers down the hatch, shining the light around to check for obstacles. With no support, pain starts to radiate through Monty more strongly. Getting impatient, he interrupts Raven’s too-slow inspection.

“It’s safe, Raven. I had the only key.”

“I know Monty, but we need to get you down safely. I have to check it.”

Slowly scaling the rungs sunk into the wall beneath the hatch, Raven descends into the bunker. Moments later, lights flicker and shine up through the opening. Raven calls up, voice slightly distorted.

“Monty, I need you to sit by the hatch so Lincoln can lift you down. It’s going to hurt, but it’s not too deep. I’ll steady you.”

————

The metal latch swings closed with a definitely click, sealing the hatch in place. Monty stands by the wall, panting harshly. The descent had gone smoothly, but it had pulled on his wounds; his hand presses hard against his front. Blood flowing through the fingers, coating them with slick red. Feeling the oncoming crash after an adrenaline rush, he leans against it. Sliding down into a sitting position, blood smearing in a wide dark red line on the wall behind him.

“Backpack. Clarke packed medical supplies.”

Monty weakly gestures towards the corner of the bunker. Raven rushes over, searching its contents. Items spill all over the floor, disregarded in her rush. Lincoln steps closer to Monty, tugging the makeshift tourniquet off. Monty silently obliges as he’s directed to lift his arms. Wincing when he does so, but makes no sound. Tiredness is creeping in, lethargy taking the place of adrenaline. His shirt is gently removed. Before he can slump back against the wall, Lincoln carefully lifts Monty up.

“Find us something to make a flame. We need to close Montee’s wounds, quickly. Keep your medicines for after.”

Time ebbs and flows. With every blink, the scene in front of Monty changes. So tired. If only Lincoln wasn’t holding him up, he’d be able to sleep. Cold too actually. Wants his shirt back.

The scream is forced from Monty’s throat without warning, flooding the small underground room. Shakes the inhabitants to the bone. It wavers, increasing and decreasing in volume; like someone is playing him like a human instrument. Abruptly it stops. The room is silent, save the sound of sizzling skin.

“Good. He won’t feel the next one.”

Raven pulls the still-warm knife away from Monty’s back, leaving freshly burned skin and flesh behind. Charred, but no longer bleeding. She turns the small gas stove back on, holding the knife over the flame. The blade slowly regains heat, glowing a soft red.

She looks over to find Lincoln slowly turning Monty onto his back. Side exposed, blood running from the exit-wound on his side. Lincoln wipes it with a piece of cloth to remove the blood, revealing a small circular hole.

Raven had known the bullet went through, but seeing the neat exit-wound eased the last of her worries. The bullet hadn’t tumbled too much inside him, so hopefully there wouldn’t be more injuries. The bullet had hit Monty just above his hip, on the outer part of his side. An inch more, and it’d have barely grazed him.

“At least the bullet went through. Luckier than me.”

Relief tinged with jealousy as Raven unconsciously rubs at her lower back. The area is still tight and uncomfortable. The bullet still presses up against her spine, and there is nothing to do. The only doctor on earth refused to operate on her. Too valuable, even damaged, to risk crippling.

Monty’s not the only one in pain, either. Raven’s leg is aching, pain lancing from her calf up into her back. Running through the forest and helping Monty had aggravated her own injuries. But there’s no time to spare, she has to save the life of her friend, again. Monty has already lost a lot of blood, and she’s worried about his recovery. She removes the knife from the flame. Now glowing a bright red. Instead of hesitating, Raven presses down.

Lincoln pinches the wound closed as best he can, while the knife sizzles against Monty’s skin. She applies firm pressure. Ensuring heat travels in; ensures the wound is properly cauterised. The smell of charcoal and burning fat fills the air along with the metallic smell of burnt blood. So heavy in the air that they can taste it. Raven gags, but does not let up. Monty lies deathly still.

“Enough. Let go Reivon.”

————

Lincoln finally takes a look around the small bunker. It’s clear that Monty had been prepared. Showing visible signs of desertion and decay, it had clearly been done in a rush, but preparations had been made. Ancient supplies that had lined dusty metal shelves had been pushed aside.

Clean clothes and blankets have taken their place. Tools. Lincoln recognizes a few weapons. Fayagons. Favoured by both the Skai people and the Maunon. Bright artificial light shines down from above, casting sharp shadows. It is uncomfortable, but his time in Arkadia has prepared him for it.

Raven is weak. Not in character, but from their escape from Arkadia. Her injuries clearly affecting her. Lincoln watches quietly as she struggles to sit comfortably beside Monty. A sigh escapes her at the slight comfort. Her shoulders droop. Head tilting a little. Exhaustion claiming her, relaxation replacing tension.

Lincoln hesitates for a moment, afraid to overstep. But the air is cool, and he does not want either of them to become ill. Moving slowly so as not to wake her, Lincoln gently lifts Raven onto a cot. Grabs a blanket and drapes it over her. Monty is placed on the cot beside Raven’s, closer to the wall.

Lincoln settles in to keep watch. But, to his eternal shame, feelings of safety are creeping up on him. A well protected underground shelter. A heavy metal door, locked. Lincoln has the only key. Sleep hooks its claws into him, slowly but surely dragging him down despite his feeble protests.

————

A dull thud snaps Lincoln from his sleep. He rushes to his feet, frantically looking around him. Monty and Raven are still deep asleep. They haven’t moved. Something heavy bangs against the hatch again. Head tilting to the side, Lincoln pays close attention.

A series of knocks. Some hard and fast, others slow and deliberate.

_They’re here._

_————_

There had been nothing she could do.

It would be several days of travel just to get back to the Mountain, and that’s if she travels alone. Madi is small, and injured. She can’t travel that distance, not yet. She feels caged, the need to help Monty waging war with reason and logic. It’s too far and if Monty’s wound is fatal, it’ll be too late when she gets there.

There had been nothing she could do, at least last night. Madi needed rest, and Clarke needed to think. To consider, and to plan.

Arkedia is being watched. Clarke is certain that Indra, and by extension Lexa, would keep eyes on them. They would know soon, if they didn’t already. TonDC is close to Arkadia, so it’s likely that Lincoln would have them seek sanctuary there. She hopes Monty remembers her advice.

Clarke knows scouts will be looking for her as well. She conquered Mt. Weather. She’s claimed the title of Wanheda. Once she shows herself, there’s no chance they will let her disappear again.

If she goes back, she’ll be going back to stay. And Clarke isn’t ready; she knows her transformation isn’t done. Has Madi to care for now. Family is what divides her. Monty is her brother and Madi is, well Clarke’s not entirely sure, but she’s important. Equally important.

In the end, she can’t stay away. She has responsibilities as Clarke. As Wanheda. And so she climbs to her feet.

**_If Clarke isn’t ready to go back, perhaps someone else should?_ **

Looking towards the pile of clothes she had looted from the Azgeda warriors, Clarke smirks. This time, she will decide how she changes.

Madi has been observing Clarke’s pacing, and quickly picks up on the change in mood. As Clarke moves towards the entrance of the cave, Madi yips and follows after as quickly as possible.

_“I’m too recognisable. Blonde hair is not exactly common down here. You don’t mind if I change it up a little, do you?”_

Receiving an affirmative noise from Madi, they set off towards the forest. Wanheda has dug up knowledge from one of their previous hosts. The host, an older man, had been a tanner. Working with animal hides and dyes. At least, he had been before his village had been senselessly slaughtered by a band of warriors. Before Clarke had offered her strength. Had offered vengeance.

She picks out berries. Shades of red, orange and even a few greens. She collects water from the stream. Ash from her fireplace. In a small wooden bowl, Clarke mixes it all together, into a thick goopy paste. She lets it thicken in the sun.

While waiting, Clarke strips down. Removes the last remnants of old-world clothing. She bathes, only her faithful dagger strapped to her still. Cleans fully, then warms by the fire. Madi looks on, not at all bothered by Clarke’s lack of modesty.

Her hair has dried. Clarke takes a deep breath. She’ll change more than just the colour. One side of hair is sliced off at shoulder length, while the other side reaches her chest. The now dark red paste is applied generously. Large scoops picked up by hand, massaged in. She can’t afford any blond hairs to shine through. Can’t afford to be recognized.

The process takes hours. In the end, Clarke’s hair is a dark coppery red. It won’t last, will need to be redyed every few weeks. But she feels reborn. She braids it. Wanting to pass unnoticed, Clarke picks a warrior's braid and ties it off without the usual clan signature.

————

To Clarke, she is unrecognizable. Wearing heavy Azgeda armour, two swords strapped to her back. Numerous daggers and throwing knives hidden throughout. A bag hangs from her shoulder, essentials for both her and Madi. She’s left her bow behind. Wanheda hasn’t taught her enough to feel comfortable with the weapon.

The cave is packed up. Furs wrap the rest of her belongings, covered with heavy rocks to prevent animals from digging into them. She had covered the entrance as well as possible, attempting to clean her tracks from the area.

This place is home, and she’s leaving it behind.

Clarke sets a slow and steady pace. Leads them into the forest, towards where Clarke found Madi. Where she killed warriors with new skills. Towards the Mountain.

She has made too many promises. The dying woman showed her an image of a girl, and Clarke promised to find her. To protect her. She’s promised to look after Monty. Promised that she wouldn’t let Madi be alone. She feels stretched, but somehow everything leads towards the Mountain.

Madi easily keeps up with the slower pace, and they speed up a little, making it to the site where Clarke fought the warriors early in the evening. Light is beginning to dim, the sun crawling behind the mountains on the horizon.

The bodies of the warriors are gone. Marks left behind in the muddy ground have dried. They were dragged. Further away, further towards the Mountain. Madi has caught the scent of something. Explores the area, and noses at the remains of the pyre Clarke built. A wave of despair flows from her and drags Clarke’s attention over. Madi whines in sorrow.

**_“Nomon.”_ ** **(Mom)**

Clarke freezes. Realisation washing over her.

_Madi? How?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Incredibly blown away by the reception of this story! We rounded 500 kudos and 9000 hits with the last chapter!! Never in my wildest dreams had I even thought we’d get here when the story is done, so I just want to say THANK YOU!  
> I would absolutely love to hear what you think of the story so far, and if you had any predictions that’s come true or not :)
> 
> I’ve gotten a few questions on just how AU this story is, and specifically whether A.L.I.E and the City of Light will be included. I’ve already updated the tags to reflect this, but I just want to clarify here. Generally speaking, they will not be included as they were in the show, but might be converted to better fit with the backstory and mythology of the setting. Specifically:  
> \- A.L.I.E 1.0 was destroyed in the original Praimfaya  
> \- The Flame, A.L.I.E 2.0 does not exist either, instead the Spirit of the Commander is a real spirit (revealed in an earlier chapter)  
> \- The City of Light might be mentioned, but won’t be a virtual reality
> 
> Thank you again for being so kind!


	11. Ch 11 - Walking the Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Madi have a heartfelt discussion, and Clarke is asked an important question.

_ “Nomon.” _ (Mom)

Clarke freezes. Realisation washing over her.

_ Madi? How? _

————

It makes no sense. How can a girl be a wolf?

**_Clarke._ **

**_We have claws, and we’re ancient. Older than humanity.._ **

_ Okay, good point. But still, what the hell?! _

**_I don’t know. It’s not something we’ve encountered before. We can think about it later, Madi needs you now._ **

Clarke steps forwards and sits down beside the distraught Madi. Gently stroking her back and guiding her against Clarke’s side. However it happened doesn’t matter right now. Whatever Madi is, Clarke has promised to take care of her. Swore to protect her.

_ “I don’t know what happened to you Madi, but don’t worry. I’m not going to leave you. We’ll stick together, you and I.” _

Madi’s small head tilts to the side, as if considering Clarke’s words. Now that Clarke knows, Madi’s mannerisms are obvious. Too intelligent to be a mere animal, thoughts visibly flowing across her features. Clarke doesn’t know exactly how old Madi is, but thinking back to the image glimpsed from her mother, she can’t be more than four or five years old.

Clarke gives Madi the time she needs to process. Just sits beside her as the light around them continues to dim— just a comforting presence.

**_“Klark?”_ **

The name sounds jagged and slightly harsh, nearly exactly like how Lexa had pronounced it. Clarke looks down to find eyes staring back at her. Questions brimming in shining eyes, surrounded by thick tears captured in fur.

_ “ _ **_Are we family?”_ **

Clarke blinks. An inferno rages within her, urging her to scream  _ YES _ , but she wrestles it under control. Madi is certainly family to Clarke. Has carved out a piece of Clarke’s heart and stolen it for herself. But Clarke isn’t certain if Madi is ready to let Clarke in. It’s much too soon, but hope is a terrible thing; it digs in and chokes Clarke with its hold.

_ “Do you want us to be?” _

Seeing a wolf nod in response to a question is surreal. But it is vastly overshadowed by the joy that spreads through Clarke. She feels warm, energetic. Something pulses within her, and Clarke knows Wanheda feels it too. She nods back, a smile firmly in place.

_ “Then yes, I would love to be your family.” _

They sit together in easy silence for a while. Madi is pressed up close against Clarke, soaking up as much comfort as possible. It’s getting darker, the sun has passed down past the mountains. Clarke’s vision is slowly adjusting, colours fading to monochrome as she observes their surroundings.

They need to get moving. It’ll be fully dark soon, and she doesn’t want to set up camp so close to the pyre. To the remains of Madi’s family. Her eyes find the trails leading from where she had left the bodies of the Azgeda warriors. Someone has removed them.

It’s risky, but Clarke doesn’t want them to sleep in the open. She playfully ruffles Madi’s fur as she stands up. Time to move.

_ “We should go. Let’s find some shelter for tonight.” _

They move slowly, following the trail left by whoever moved the bodies. Clarke keeps an eye on their surroundings, but Madi seems calm. She must have spent time in the area before. The trees begin to thin and signs of human use appears. Trails left by hunters criss-cross the ground. Marks on trees indicating directions. Continuing to follow the deep trail, it doesn’t take long before they come to the edge of the forest.

Standing on the side of a small hill, they look down upon a small valley. The hillside in front of them is clear, with tall grass swaying gently in the breeze. In the middle of the valley, a wooden palisade stands strong and tall. Illuminated by bright wooden torches. A few of them move around slowly, guards patrolling on top of the wall.

Even from this distance, Clarke can hear the sounds of life from within the walls. A mass of voices, some laughing and some upset. The busy, yet calm, evening ritual of people coming together to share stories. To belong.

A large well-traveled road loads to the village gate. The sheer size of the village and the chorus of voices makes Clarke hesitant to go any further. The decision is taken out of her hands when Madi hears the commotion.

**_“We’re home. My village.”_ **

Madi yips in excitement. She bounds down the hillside, stumbling a little every time she puts weight on her injured leg.

_ Float me. This isn’t going to go well. _

Dressed in full Azgeda armour and loaded with weapons. Madi is a wolf, there’s no way she’ll be recognized. The guards will probably attack them on sight. While the villagers might respect Wanheda, Clarke doesn’t look like herself right now.

_ I just had to go and make myself unrecognizable didn’t I? _

Madi is fast. Too fast, and noisy. So excited about being near a familiar place to let go of animal instinct. Stealth left far behind. The guards must have heard, because the two at the gate are looking in Madi’s direction.

One guards shouts something unintelligible and grabs for their sword. Their companion follows suit immediately. Madi hasn’t noticed anything. Simply running with exuberance. The guards step forward, away from the gate.

_ Enough. _

Clarke moves. Putting all of her newfound strength and agility to use. The ground flies by; the only sound made by grass sliding against her boots.

Madi stops as the guard shouts again, much closer this time. Swords facing her, both guards stand just a few meters away. One guard has his eyes trained on her. The other looks around, scanning for other threats.

_ “It’s just a pup.” _

_ “A pup without a pack? Keep your eyes on it.” _

Madi recognizes one of the guards. A good friend of her mothers. She calls out to him, hoping he’ll recognize her. An excited yip causes the guards to stand straighter, gripping their weapons tighter.

_ “Is it calling for it’s pack?” _

Madi starts moving towards the guards. Sure that they’ll recognize her when she’s closer. A deep and dangerous growl from behind her stops her short. Tail curling up under her, Madi crouches.

_ “What was that?!” _

Clarke slides to a stop in front of Madi. With a sword in each hand, and lips pulled back over her teeth, Clarke snarls at the guards.

They stand frozen in shock. The acrid smell of urine and fear wafting towards Clarke and Madi. Clarke takes a step forward, putting Madi securely out of sight.

**_“Stand. Down.”_ **

One guard immediately drops his sword, letting it clatter to the ground. The second guard follows suit moments later. They fall to their knees, looking fearfully at Clarke. Avoiding eye-contact as best as possible.

_ “S-sha W-wanheda. Have mercy, please!” _

Their immediate recognition shakes Clarke to her core. How? How did they know it was her? Still too angry to demand explanations, Clarke puts one of her swords away. Eyes never leaving the fearful guards, Clarke reaches a hand towards Madi.

Subdued by the anger and worry in Clarke’s scent, Madi obeys the silent order. Moving to Clarke’s side, and nuzzling against her leg as she checks Madi over. Finding nothing wrong, the worry disappears from Clarke’s scent.

**_“She’s with me. Harm her and your life is forfeit. Understood?”_ **

Clarke is met with furious nodding.

_ “Sha Wanheda. We understand.” _

_ ———— _

The terrified guards lead Clarke and Madi to the village gate. The guards on the wall force them to stop as they reach the light of the torches. Clarke’s stolen Azgeda armour causes them to grow suspicious.

Probably doesn’t help that Clarke hasn’t put her second sword away. Neither does her aggressive stance, but she can’t help it. Protective instincts have taken over. Madi is glued to her side, tail still tucked safely under her. Until they are safe, Clarke’s not letting go of her sword.

**_Remember, we also have the throwing knives, should we need them._ **

The gate stands tall before them. Tall and closed. Noise picks up behind it, shifting from carefree to alert. The gate opens slowly, an authoritative voice carrying before its owner can even see her.

_ “Azgeda, hand over your w.. “ _

The gate has opened enough for the speaking warrior to see her. Locking eyes with Clarke, he stops mid-sentence. The group of warriors behind him shuffle restlessly at the inaction. Apprehension grows in the group. One by one they look at Clarke and fall silent.

_ What the hell. Why does everyone recognize us? _

**_Oh. Uh.._ **

_ … What now? _

**_There’s a small detail that I might have forgotten. Tiny, really.._ **

Losing patience with herself is not a new thing for Clarke, but this time it’s backed by frustration.

_ Explain. _

**_In my defense, we have a lot of memories. And this really is a small detail._ **

_ Wanheda. Now. _

**You see.. That purple glow from our realm? It’s unique. Ours. Normally, when a spirit is within a host, they generally lie dormant. The only way to tell for others is to look at their eyes. They’ll glow if the spirit is active. How strong depends on how active the spirit is.**

_ But I’m not a host? _

**_Exactly. We’re not a host. Clarke we ARE the spirit._ **

_ So.. Our eyes are glowing? _

**_Indeed. Once the block between us broke down, it started. They’ll always glow, at least slightly. But Clarke, purple is our colour. Some colours are shared between others, but that deep purple? Ours._ **

_ And the clans, they know? _

**_It’s common knowledge. We do have a reputation, you know._ **

Clarke winces. The guards in front of her take a step back. Right. Commander of Death. The Grounders are afraid of her. Great.

**_“Peace. We mean no harm. We simply followed a trail here, looking for whoever took the bodies of the Azgeda I fought.”_ **

She gestures down at Madi, and being cautious of not mentioning her by name, continues:

**_“And my companion is injured. I wanted to find a safe shelter for us.”_ **

As Clarke is speaking, the group of warriors is slowly moving. An old woman batting shoulders to get them to move aside, and slowly making her way to the front. She waits for Clarke to finish speaking. Finding Clarke’s eyes, she gives a gentle nod.

_ “Welcome Wanheda, to Drom.” _

A simple wave of her hand has the warriors returning to normal. Sheepishly shuffling off to the side to let Clarke and Madi in.

_ “I am Elenor kom Trikru, the Elder of Drom.” _

Manners learned from numerous hosts slam into Clarke. Her sword is put away in a flash. She steps forward, one arm bent in front of her. Keeping eye-contact, Clarke gives a slow nod of respect. Gently grasping the arm Elenor holds out, Clarke returns the customary greeting.

_ “Well met Elder. I am Klark kom Skaikru, Wanheda.” _

Madi gives a small happy bark. She’s home. Elenor smiles indulgently at the small wolf pup, and gestures for them to follow her.

_ “Come Wanheda, we have much to discuss.” _

Once past the gate, Clarke is surprised to find the village much different from TonDC. Where she had expected makeshift houses made of scrap metal and tents, she finds sturdy houses built of wood. Streets wide, made of well-packed dirt. Both torches and campfires line the street, getting more numerous as they make their way deeper in.

This is no village. This is a town. It had seemed small in the dark, but it stretches deeper and wider than Clarke could have ever imagined. They enter a large square, paved with small bricks. A plaza, Clarke recalls.

_ “This is the town square, where our market is.” _

The Elder sounds proud. Looking around, Clarke has to agree. It is an impressive settlement, able to house more people than she can imagine. Fireplaces line the centre of the square, with small groups of people still sitting around them.

_ “This way. This is my house.” _

In front of them stands a modest two-story house, built with sturdy logs and beams. As they enter, the chill of the evening is replaced with comfortable warmth. Elenor leads them to the kitchen and sitting room. Gesturing for Clarke to follow suit, Elenor takes a seat by a large table.

Clarke finds Madi looking back at her. The earlier burst of energy clearly has been replaced. Exhaustion once again seeps from her. Clarke reaches down and gently scoops her up. Sitting down in a sturdy wooden chair, with Madi laying in her lap. The wolf nuzzles into her hand, then closes her eyes.

  
  


Elenor looks at Clarke with soft understanding eyes.

_ “You care for her.” _

_ “I do. I found her injured, the only survivor of her pack. I’ve been nursing her back to health since.” _

Elenor slowly gets out of her seat, going to fill two cups of water from a waterskin hanging on the wall.

_ “Our hunters found your message. Heda sent additional warriors to protect the city after we informed her.” _

_ “And their corpses?” _

_ “Decapitated. The bodies were burned. We sent the heads with a messenger to Heda. I assume she handed them to the Azgeda ambassador in Polis.” _

Clarke nods to herself. It makes sense, Lexa would need to present proof to the ambassadors. Whatever politics is going on, hopefully it can be resolved. She doesn’t want to be caught up in another war.

She sips from the cup of water Elenor handed her. Her sense of smell telling her it’s safe to drink. Her other hand rests protectively on Madi. Her companion is deep asleep, breathing heavily. Elenor looks pointedly at the sleeping wolf.

_ “Thank you for avenging her parents, Wanheda. She has already lost too many.” _

Clarke has had too many surprises today to act outwardly. She tries to stay calm, tries to reign in protective instincts. Apparently she’s not as successful as she thinks. Elenor picks up on the change in emotions quickly, and moves to reassure her.

_ “I’m an old lady, Wanheda. I know a great many secrets, but I mean no harm to you or yours.” _

Elenor takes a brief moment to consider her words. Nodding to herself, she smiles briefly before continuing.

_ “You are no host. Your eyes give you away to those who know the signs.” _

Moving slowly, so as not to appear threatening, Elenor retrieves a small dagger from her hip. Making a small cut on her arm. Elenor asks her question as black blood oozes from the wound:

_ “How much do you know about Nightbloods?” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Clarke finally meets grounders that aren't warriors. Hope you enjoyed the chapter, and I'm looking forward to hearing your thoughts!
> 
> A friend recommended I try out Hades by SuperGiant Games, so I did and completely got sucked into it. Blame them for the shorter chapter! I'll try and make it up to you with the next one :)


	12. Ch 12 - Hidden from the Flames

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke finally get answers to some of her questions. Both Clarke and Madi re-discover some of the conveniences of urban life. Madi receives some necessary comfort.

_ “How much do you know about Nightbloods?” _

_ ———— _

_ “Not enough.” _

Glancing at the black blood slowly running down Elenor’s arm, Clarke thinks. She definitely doesn’t know enough. Memories tingle at the edge of her mind, just out of reach. Maybe she’s met some in the past? Maybe one of her previous hosts had?

Looking up, she finds Elenor has put the knife away. Looking back at her with a knowing smile, and a glint in her eyes.

_ “You have met my kind before, Wanheda. There are records, though many were lost in the Great Flames. Some survived. Memoirs. Drawings.” _

_ “Descriptions of battle. Of bloodshed. A blonde woman, seemingly never aging, arriving time and time again to help my people. Bringing them to safety, and helping them to create sanctuaries.” _

Familiar. Clarke’s lost in thought, searching her memories.

_ “We were hunted then. Tens of thousands killed senselessly. Burned at the stake, thrown into lakes to drown. Just because we were different. They thought us monsters.” _

Clarke remembers smoke filling her nostrils. That unique smell of burned flesh and muscle. Happy laughter mixed with cheers as the scent of death grew.

_ “Witches they called us. We are different yes, but we did not do what they accused us of. Were not what they accused us of.” _

Remembers arriving at the crowd, seeing the stakes lined up. Several were already burning. Many more had people tied to them, waiting for their turn to be set ablaze. Most were injured, blood running from wounds where they had been beaten. Red blood flowing from a split cheek on a child. Black blood rushing out from a deep cut in the thigh from his mother, chained up beside him. Senseless violence. Murder.

Despite the clarity of details, the reality of it, the memory stutters. Fades and burs together as Clarke had moved through the crowd. One moment she was on the edge, the next she stood beside a prisoner. Then the executioner had glared at Clarke, shouting at her in an old language. Clarke had lifted her hood and stared him down. He had screamed at her, calling her a demon.

_ “You saved them.” _

Absentmindedly, Clarke nods. She had.

_ “They feared you. Just like how we are different from normal people, so you were different from them. But you protected them, and for that you were remembered.” _

She remembers now. The first memory tugging the next forward, until a whole thread comes loose and flows freely. Shudders at the memories of death, of lakes with bloated bodies at the bottom. She had helped where she could, secreting people away to safety. Stealth had been optional, wanting to save as many as possible.

The witch hunters had finally had something to truly fear, and it tooks years for Clarke to realise it.

_ “I didn’t help them. I made the situation worse, Elenor.” _

A slight wince and a quirked eyebrow, followed by a shallow nod.

_ “You did help. Things did get worse, yes. But, because of you my people had support. Had community. Their focus had shifted to you, and we quietly hid away.” _

_ “You hid? I thought you were dying out.” _

_ “We did. As you must know, my people revere you. But they were afraid, and did not want to risk the attention your presence might bring.” _

It made sense. The witch hunts had increased in popularity, and Clarke had been run increasingly ragged trying to save people. Fewer and fewer had black blood, and yet the hunts had continued. Clarke kept trying to save people, setting them up in new locations to give them another chance.

It wasn’t until she had walked into an ambush that Clarke realised she was part of the problem. She barely got out, but managed to find out that they had been targeting her. Her specifically. Like the Nightbloods, Clarke decided to step away again. Back into obscurity. To loneliness.

_ “Now. Back to my question, how much do you know about us? About our abilities?” _

This time the knowledge comes easily, even though Clarke still doesn’t know a lot of specifics. Glancing again at the shallow cut on Elenor’s arm, Clarke finds it has already stopped bleeding.

_ “I’ve seen accelerated healing. Both in people from back then, and now with both Madi and yourself. My… The first Commander, she was a Nightblood. The first I had met in a long time. She was the only in her family with black blood. She did not know why, but she had sharpened senses. Increased sense of hearing and smell.” _

_ “It wasn’t enough.” _

A single tear rolls down Clarke’s cheek at the memory. Her hand clenches around a handful of Madi’s fur. She struggles to regain her composure, but the warm weight lying on her lap helps calm her.

_ “An ability gained in childhood, only manifesting if the child is in mortal peril. It was rare before the Great Flames, but these days…”  _ Gesturing towards Madi, Elenor gives a deep sigh.  _ “Were she not laying in your lap, I would deny its existence. We have guarded this secret for millennia, for it is our last resort. It is how we have survived times of strife. It is how we survive today.” _

Sensing a question, Elenor quickly continues.

_ “She will be fine, Wanheda. The process varies with everyone, but she will revert to human form eventually. As I mentioned, the first turning is always triggered by a traumatic event. She will need to heal from her wounds, both mental and physical before the change can be reversed. It will be painless.” _

Something slots into place for Clarke. The Nightblood’s heightened senses. Their accelerated healing.

_ “This is where your senses come from, isn’t it?” _

A smile brightens Elenor’s face, pulling at old wrinkles and making her seem much younger.

_ “Correct. We all have an animal form, but we can only do a full shift if it was forced upon us during childhood. The forms differ, and so do the heightened senses. Some bring additional abilities like increased strength or speed. For Madi, since she is a wolf, she will have a greatly increased sense of smell and hearing. I do not know if she will have any more abilities.” _

Elenor’s face adopts a more serious expression, her voice gaining a touch of steel.

_ “The girl has lost everything. Her brother died last year. You built a pyre for her parents yourself, so you know how they died. The people of Drom think she died with them, and she had no other family. Perhaps she can return to Drom in human form one day, but for now we need to protect her.” _

Clarke nods resolutely, having long given in to the protectiveness she feels for Madi.

_ “She’s coming with me. I promised her mother that I would protect her. Madi’s already asked me if she could stay with me.”  _ Clarke gives Elenor a significant look before continuing.  _ “Madi’s mine. Family. I can’t explain it, but it feels stronger than normal. More than us just forming a bond.” _

_ “That’s another important thing I wanted to speak with you about. Family.”  _ An understanding smile graces Elenor’s face.  _ “We receive more than just heightened senses and abilities, Wanheda. Because of our animal forms, we also gain some of the instincts of the animal. Some form packs, a mix of biological and emotional family. Once formed, these bonds are incredibly difficult to disrupt.”  _ A small frown.  _ “It is curious. These bonds normally only happen between Nightbloods. Perhaps we are not so different after all.” _

Elenor stares blankly for a few moments, deep in thought. Then shakes herself out of it. Looking out the window, and then focusing back on Clarke.

_ “It is getting late. We can continue our talk tomorrow if you wish. I have a guest room here, so please, make yourselves comfortable.”  _ Looking down at Madi, Elenor’s smile grows sad.  _ “Tomorrow, I will show you to her home. I am sure there will be things she wants, and things she needs. Things to remind her of her parents.” _

_ ———— _

A bed. A real bed, with a real mattress and warm furs. Clarke hasn’t slept in a proper bed since Mt. Weather, and those were bunk beds, or in the medical section. On the Ark, Clarke only had a small cot in her cell. Since her father died.

Protected by the elements, and kept warm by the embers still softly glowing in the fireplace. A soft ball of warmth lies curled up against her side. Other than burrowing slightly closer, Madi hasn’t moved all night. Clarke can’t remember feeling this comfortable, this safe. Not for a long time.

Through the window she can see the sky changing from deep blue to bright orange. Shouts and excited voices outside signal that the market will open soon. Despite wanting to stay within this comfort, Clarke knows they have to get up. She slowly shifts sideways, to give Madi a few more minutes. Madi, however, whines and just noses closer to Clarke. Closer to the warmth.

An amused huff follows the movement. Clarke sits up and watches Madi confusedly search for more warmth in her sleep. Thinking about everything Elenor has told her, and all the questions Clarke still has, she can’t help but worry for Madi. Worry that she’ll be leaving too much behind; worry that Madi will have to grow up too fast.

_ Maybe it’s good that you’re a wolf right now.. _

Her instincts will make things simpler. Allow her the freedom to be playful without the demands of life, at least for a while. Clarke intends to give her that freedom, for as long as possible. For now though, there’s an injury to inspect.

With gentle hands and slow movements, Clarke removes the bandage she had wrapped around Madi’s hind leg. Elenor hadn’t been lying about the accelerated healing, and how it was faster when in their animal form. The deep wound, less than a week old, is fully healed. All that’s left is a bit of scabbing over the wound, and some missing fur. Madi woke up during Clarke’s inspection, but hasn’t moved.

_ “Your leg seems much better, hopefully the limp is gone as well.” _

Madi perks up at this, excitement visibly thrumming through her.

_ “Sadly we do need to get up. Elenor promised to show us around Drom today.” _

Clarke barely has time to move away before Madi springs to action. Off the bed, across the small room and plants herself in front of the door. Glaring at is, as if her intent alone would cause it to open.

_ Well. That was easier than I thought. _

Following suit, Clarke gets out of the bed, retrieving her hidden dagger as she does. Putting on her clothes, and only a light layer of armour. No need to frighten the townspeople by looking like an Azgeda warrior. Even so, Clarke still wears her weapons. Two swords attached to her back, and the dagger Lexa gave her proudly displayed on her hip.

Looking down towards Madi, Clarke finds her still staring down the door. Unmoved in her attempt to enforce her will. Shaking her head, she opens the door and watches as Madi practically flies down the hallway.

_ “Alright then. Lead the way.” _

_ ———— _

The morning sun bathes Drom in a warm and friendly light. People rush between stalls, making small talk and trying to get discounts. Loud voices ring above the noise, calling out their most important deals. Smells beckon people closer. The sweet smell of smoke and roasting meat. The sweetness of fresh fruits wafts from one corner.

The market is grand, much larger than the square Clarke had seen in TonDC. She has to dig into Wanheda’s memories to see anything like it. The night before had definitely not done the town square justice.

_ “Come, there is much to see.” _

Elenor seems pleased with Clarke’s first impression of the market, as she leads them into the crowd. People bow their heads at Elenor, their Elder. No attention is paid to Clarke, her eyes muted in the light of day. Despite her clear excitement, Madi is staying close to Clarke. Some townspeople eye her warily, but nobody dares question their Elder’s guest.

_ “As you can see, this is our market. Six times a year we hold an open market. People travel from across the Kongeda to sell their wares.”  _

Pride drips from every word. 

_ “The largest market in Trikru. But this time it is sooner than usual. When the Kongeda sent warriors to TonDC to fight the Maun-de, they also sent traders. Warriors are hungry. They need supplies. That is what we provided.”  _

She gives Clarke a loaded look. 

_ “When you felled the Maun-de. Slew the Maunon, we rejoiced. Not just for the return of our people, but for the return of our land.” _

Turning, she gestures at stalls selling fresh goods. Everything from grains and berries to fresh meat and tanned leather.

_ “Our produce is farmed. Both locally around Drom, and in more remote locations untouched by the forest. Trikru has fertile land, but we have lived in the shadow of the Maun-de. They have destroyed every attempt at settling closer. The acid fog killed both animals and plants. With them gone, we can expand. Other clans like Floukru covet our wares, but in times of scarcity we have had to turn them away.”  _

Her face lights up with a blinding smile.  _ “No more.” _

As they reach the edge of the market, Elenor’s voice lowers to a whisper and she leans in close. 

_ “I apologise, Wanheda. But the anonymity you currently enjoy will not last. Once the night-guard wakes, the news will spread like wildfire.” _

Clarke simply nods. She had honestly expected the news to have broken already. Seeing her acceptance, Elenor leads them around the outside of the market. Shows them where the food stalls are, indicating they will be back later. 

Their path takes them from the busy and crowded town square to more deserted streets. A smithy is located not far from the market, heat rolling from the building in waves. Loud crashing noises, metal on metal can be heard from within. More workshops line the street. Carpenters, tanners, and leatherworkers. Madi whines in discomfort from the smells and noises.

_ “I will introduce you to some people later. If you decide to keep it, your armour needs to be adjusted. It seems too big on you, and at least your shoulders seem stiff.” _

Moving away from the noisy street, Clarke winces before answering.

_ “Indeed. I took what fit best from the Azgeda warriors. But my shoulders are stiff for some other reason. The Maunon did something to me, and my back and shoulders have been stiff and sore ever since.”  _

Outrage floods Elenor’s face. Eyes momentarily flashing dangerously. Must have been a trick of the light.  _ “They did what?” _

Clarke rolls her shoulders. Attempts to at least. Wincing as they catch and pull at sore muscles, sore skin.  _ “This is not the place, Elder.” _

The words cause Elenor to look around, taking in the growing mass of people coming to trade with the craftsmen. She nods in understanding, and leads them further down the maze of streets in silence. Clarke takes in the sights and notes their location, in case they need to come back without a guide. She catches Madi trailing behind a little, with a downcast expression. Clarke gestures for Elenor to slow down a little, and they move forward at Madi’s pace.

They move through winding narrowing streets. Away from the bustle of the workshops. Away from shops, and into small residential areas. Reserved for those who do not need a shop. Healers, guards, guests and apprentices. Before long, Elenor stops them in front of a small single-story house, painted a colourful red and brown. It is silent, and the reason for Madi’s upset.

_ “We’re here. The home of Aiwen kom Louwoda Klironkru and Geen kom Trikru. Madi’s parents.” _

_ ———— _

As her parent’s names are called out, Madi makes a sorrowful whine. She paws at Clarke’s boots, trying to get her attention. Clarke bends down, fighting her stiff back and picks her up. Resting in Clarke’s arms, Madi buries her head in Clarke’s shoulder, like she was back in human form.

Moving to keep out of sight of any passersby, Clarke tries to soothe her. Letting her know she’s not alone. Elenor gives them time, and moves to unlock the house. Clarke follows behind and enters the house, but something Elenor said causes her to pause just inside the door.

_ “Louwoda Klironkru? Her mother was not Trikru?” _

_ “She was not. It is not uncommon for members of other clans to bond. Geen kom Trikru was one of our best farmers. He had been training as a hunter’s seken, but was injured. No longer able to shoot a bow, he instead decided to help our farmers. Years later, he was placed in charge of our northern orchard. He ended up travelling to many different clans to trade both produce and knowledge.”  _

Elenor’s smile turns wistful.  _ “It was there he met Aiwen kom Louwoda Klironkru, a village guard. They became fast friends, and it was only a few seasons later that they decided to bond. Aiwen moved here, and joined our Guard.” _

Tears are trailing down Elenor’s cheeks, mirrored by the damp fur Clarke can feel against her neck. Elenor wipes away the tears, and gives a sad sigh before continuing.

_ “They were such a happy couple, and some of my dearest friends. I miss them greatly.” _

_ “I’m sorry for your loss.”  _

Clarke pauses, wondering how much to reveal. When she speaks, her voice takes on an ethereal quality, and the glow in her eyes intensifies.

**_“Aiwen died thinking of her daughter. Of Madi. She was worried then, understandably so. You have to understand, Elder, that death is not instant. Your body will expire, yes, but the soul can remain. Not for long, but enough to observe. To settle worries and fears. To find peace.”_ **

Elenor had known her companion was Wanheda. The constantly glowing eyes give her away, but Clarke’s gentle demeanor downplay the power she carries. Elenor believes the accounts of her people. Believes that Wanheda is a benevolent spirit, helping those in need. 

But standing in front of her, being the focus of brightly glowing purple eyes? Elenor understands why people fear her. Just why Wanheda is believed to command Death.

**_“Aiwen and Geen did perish to the Azgeda warriors, but they did not move on that same night. Like most dead, they had worries that needed to be soothed. I met them again, sooner than expected. Just a few days later, they were ready to move on. The dead cannot speak, as such, but instead communicate mostly with feelings. Concepts._ **

**_When I approached them, they gave off feelings of contentment and acceptance. Relief. You should know that even in death, they were together. Bonded as one.”_ **

Clarke takes a deep breath, allowing her voice to return to normal.

_ “I did not understand. Aiwen had asked me to find her daughter. To protect her. But in death, she seemed like I already had. It was not until Madi found the pyre I had built that I understood. _

Too overwhelmed to give a verbal response, Elenor manages a shaky nod. Allowing the woman time to recover, Clarke turns her attention to the wolf in her arms. Madi has calmed down as she spoke, but is clearly still upset.

Deciding to move quickly, so they can leave soon, Clarke starts looking around the house. It is small, just two bedrooms and a combined kitchen and living area. Just as Clarke is about to look into one of the bedrooms, Elenor rejoins them.

_ “This house rightfully belongs to Madi now. She deserves what little her parents left behind. Take what you think she will need with you. Then, I will have the rest sealed up until you return.” _

It ends up not being much. Madi has calmed down and is walking around looking at everything. She noses at a few toys. A wooden sword, and a little shield with Heda’s gear painted on. She quickly walks away from them, and wraps herself around a small plush rabbit.

_ “Her brother got it for her. Brought it back from Polis.” _

Aside from the toy rabbit, Clarke collects a set of clothes sized for a small girl. Throughout the search, Clarke looks for valuable items; things to put away safely. She finds a few chalk drawings— portraits of family and landscapes— drawn in a sure and steady hand. In Aiwen and Geens bedroom, she finds a small stack of handwritten letters. Without reading them, she puts them away gently with the drawings.

_ “Will you please keep these safe, Elder? An empty house would be tempting for thieves.” _

Seeing Elenor agree to the request, Clarke takes the offered key and locks the door. They leave the house behind, with the sun high in the sky above them. The walk back to Elenor’s house is quiet. Clarke keeps a keen eye on Madi, trying to figure out how to help her.

As they walk through the market, Elenor changes direction slightly. Heading towards the smell of spiced and smoked meat. Clarke can hear both Madi and her own stomach rumbling in appreciation. As she has no coin, and nothing she’s willing to trade, Clarke lets Elenor order food. She will just have to make it up to the Elder later.

It takes only minutes before they spot Elenor returning with what Clarke recognizes as kabobs. Pieces of grilled meat and vegetables on a small stick. With their prize secured, they finally make it back to Elenor’s house.

_ ———— _

_ They’re here. _

Lincoln moves swiftly to the other side of the small room. She shakes Raven awake first, then gesturing for her to be silent, he wakes up Monty. He wakes slowly, groaning as the pain kicks in again.

The sequence of knocks repeats itself.

Monty and Raven become much more alert at hearing the noise. Monty moves to speak, but Lincoln shushes him.

“Quiet. It is Trikru. No matter what happens, you cannot act. Do not fight back. Whatever you think you see or hear, do not speak of it until I tell you it is safe.”

“Lincoln.. What’s going on?”

“Officially, I was banished. A kill order on my head, should I ever return to Trikru.” Seeing Raven is about to ask more questions, he quickly shuts her down.

“We don’t have time. Just follow their orders, I promise we will be fine. Quickly, grab your things.”

As Raven begins double checking her backpack, Lincoln moves to the hatch. Quickly and quietly, he taps out a series of knocks. A response is given, shorter than the first. Nodding resolutely to himself, he gathers his things. Attaches his weapons. It has to be just right.

He looks back at the two injured Skaikru. Their packs are packed, and Raven is helping Monty down from the cot.

_ Good. Everything should work out. _

With practiced ease, he adopts a worried expression. Slower, startled, movements. Like a man caught somewhere he shouldn’t be. He unlocks the hatch and steps away from the ladder.

It happens quickly. The hatch is ripped open, and immediately a heavily armed warrior drops down. He steps to the side and is followed by another warrior, both wearing traditional Trikru garb.

_ “Stand back, Natrona.” (Stand back, Traitor) _

Monty and Raven look worriedly at each other, sitting back and attempting to be as unassuming as possible. Their basic understanding of Trigedasleng only enough to know that Lincoln had been called a traitor.

The second warrior looks around the small bunker. She spots Monty and Raven off to the side, but does not threaten them. Instead, she continues inspecting her surroundings. Eyes fixate on the pool of blood beside her, where Monty had slid onto the floor. She shouts up through the opening. 

_ “It’s clear! One of the Skaikru is injured.” _

No response is forthcoming, but moments later Nyko climbs down the rungs set into the concrete walls. He takes one look at the blood, ignoring Lincoln entirely. Eyes snap to Monty and Raven.

“Which of you is injured?”

Remembering Lincoln's word about complying, Raven gestures at Monty.

“He was shot, with a gun. It hit him in the side and passed through cleanly. We stopped here to cauterize it.”

Nyko walks towards them, the female warrior falling into step beside him. One hand on her sword, and alert eyes scanning them both. Treating them as potential threats. Behind them, at the hatch, two more warriors drop down. Giving Monty no chance to complain, Nyko quickly, but gently, lifts Monty’s shirt, and removes the bandage.

“Good, it’s no longer bleeding. No sign of infection.”

He gives Monty a once-over, tilting his head this way and that, making note of his reactions. A small smile graces Nyko’s face, and he gives Raven an approving nod.

“He’s lost a lot of blood, some food and water, and a healing poultice will speed up his recovery. You did a good job.”

_ “Natrona!”  _ (Traitor!)

Lincoln doesn’t even flinch. A warrior on either side of him, ready to step in should he make a single move. Indra stands in front of him, staring him down with hateful eyes. A dagger held ready in her hand. He knows her aim, she could hit his eye without trouble.

_ “How dare you come to these lands?” _

Lincoln’s impressed. His own training has long since kicked in. He stands silent. Strong. He will not break, even under torture. He has to suppress a wince at the memory of Skaikru torture. Admits that Wanheda did break him, and that’s not a feeling he wants to ever experience again.

The warriors, seeing that Lincoln did not respond, moves to restrain him. He does not fight back, instead allowing them to move his arms. He simply observes Indra, watches as her eyes flicker to the invisible mark on his arm. She says nothing, but turns away and climbs out of the bunker. Her voice rings through from above

“Bring the traitor and the Skaikru. Bind them if necessary. Heda will want to know why they venture so far from their metal village.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! Clarke gets some answers, though I'm pretty sure she just has even more questions now!  
> I promise things will get better for Madi, it's just a pretty rough time for her right now. 
> 
> Really looking forward to seeing what you think of this chapter :)


	13. Ch 13 - Herbal Connections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Polis is keeping Lexa busy. She has little time to rest, between Titus hounding her, training, and receiving strange packages from messengers.

_ Something is wrong. _

A bead of sweat forms on her forehead. It grows, gently shifting with her movements. Her arms tremble as they fluidly direct her swords. The bead slowly rolls down her cheek, avoiding braided hair. Gracefully swirling at the target, slicing with hidden power. It reaches her jaw and hangs on. Dangles above the ground. She dances back and forth on the training grounds.

The tiny droplet falls, making a small splash on the ground. Marking yet another spot with dark wetness. She has been exercising for hours, honing her skills. Exhaustion calms her mind; it provides an outlet for her frustration, and allows her to just focus. To think clearly.

_ Do you feel it? _

Shifting back into a more comfortable position, her swords finding their way back into their sheathes. A step back, and then she blurs into movement once again. The exercise is repeated over and over. More droplets fall to the ground.

“Heda!”

Ryder knows better than to disrupt her during training. Unless it’s something urgent. Lexa quickly pushes herself through the last of her stances, just how Anya had taught her.

She straightens and strides towards the rack of weapons on the side of the training area. Ryder stands ready beside it, and Lexa hands over her weighted training swords. Smirking a little as he struggles with the added weight. Making sure to switch to Gonasleng, Lexa asks:

“What is it, Ryder?”

“Not here. There’s a messenger waiting for you in the Tower.”

“A messenger does not explain the interruption.”

“Heda, she.. Forgive me, but she carries a sealed letter from the Elder of Drom. Claimed it was urgent.”

Dread fills Lexa. She knows exactly who the Elder of Drom is. For her to claim her message was urgent, it cannot have been good news. She increases her pace, Ryder staying just a step behind her.

“The seal, was it verified?”

“Indeed. It is authentic.”

Ryder pauses, giving her a contemplative look. Lexa wonders what else he knows. Whatever it is, he does not elaborate.

He leads the way through the Tower. Not towards the throne room, which Lexa is thankful for. Titus feels too comfortable interrupting her there. And with a sealed letter from an Elder, she wants only those she trusts around her.

The Tower is large, from before the Great Flames. It contains a myriad of corridors, rooms and cavernous halls. So large that even Lexa is certain that she has not fully explored the building.

Ryder leads her towards a small room on a lower floor. Used in the past for informal meetings, for things best not overheard. Lexa knows it well, having granted this area of the building to her most trusted guards. Those who have proven themselves unquestionably.

The doors open, and Lexa is faced with yet another unknown face kneeling before her. The young girl is terrified, but hides it well. Hopefully just from Lexa’s presence and not the news she carries.

Then Lexa notices the smell. She has been too preoccupied to really stretch her senses. Too worried about the feeling of impending trouble to pay attention. But that smell. Lexa remembers that smell only too well. She gags. The sweet smell of rot, of death.

Ryder seals the door, and takes up his position on the inside. As her most trusted guard, he goes where she goes.

_ “Who are you?” _

Finally addressed, the messenger looks up. She glances around the room, and seeing that they are alone, gives a relieved sigh.

_ “Nayia kom Trikru. Personal Messenger of Elenor kom Trikru, the Elder of Drom.” _

_ “And what news do you bring Nayia kom Trikru?” _

The messenger gulps, and Lexa struggles to withhold a groan. Of course it’s bad news. Of course.

_ “There has been another attack, H…” _

Lexa interrupts her, swearing ferociously in Gonasleng. Seeing the fearful and confused look on Nayia’s face, Lexa calms down and motions for her to continue.

_ “We found the attackers beside a burnt out pyre. Slain, and naked as the day they were born.” _

Lexa stills. This could be bad.

_ “The pyre was only big enough for a few people, so the Elder did a headcount of the town. Three were missing, a family with a small girl.” _

Nayia swallows hard, eyes darting to her side. This time Lexa’s groan slips free as she finally notices the source of the smell. A rough, hempen, sack. She hopes she’s wrong, but knows she isn’t.

_ “There were five attackers, Heda. All Azgeda, marked with the ritual scars of their warriors. The Elder knew you would need proof.” _

Nayia gestures to the sack, and Lexa hates that she is right. Without being asked, Ryder brings forward a small table. A nod from Lexa is permission enough for Nayia to stand. Carefully, she places the sack on the table with a dull thud. Lexa winces as terrible memories of another sack floods her. Of Costia, and how she had fractured and broken.

Nayia pulls at the strings keeping the sack closed. It opens and Lexa immediately understands the terror felt by the messenger. She pretends not to notice as Ryder actually gags and shakes. Normally she would reprimand her guard for such behaviour, but now? Now Lexa wants to give in to the terror as well.

Before her lie the decomposing and severed head of a warrior. Face set in a painful grimace, pulling at numerous ritual scars. Definitely Azgeda. She does not recognize them all, as Azgeda fiercely guard their secrets, but she knows enough. That’s not what terrifies her though. It is widely believed by her people that if the head is severed, the soul will not pass on.

Her people are wrong. Her connection with Heda allows her more insight. A severed head just means the soul has a chance of not moving on. It will be slower, more painful, but it is still possible.

This though? Within her, even Heda is trembling.

There is only one force strong enough to prevent a soul from passing on. Only one being that can deny a soul comfort.

The severed head is marked. Cut deep into its forehead is a mark that Lexa knows well, intimately even. Wanheda has marked this warrior. Signed his fate, deigned him unworthy.

**_She must have been enraged. For her to mark him so visibly. So early…_ **

_ Wait.. _

Lexa turns to the messenger again. She doesn’t want to ask. Doesn’t want to know, but she has to. It’s her duty.

_ “The others?” _

Nayia gives a single, firm, nod. Lexa swallows around the lump in her throat. Five souls, torn asunder. Not allowed to roam, and not allowed to pass on.

But there’s no time to rest. This is the proof she has been looking for; the proof she needed to show Azgeda involvement.

“Ryder, convene the ambassadors.”

The door is swiftly unlocked and the order is relayed to another guard standing outside the room. Ryder then steps back and seals the door again.

_ “Heda, there is more.” _

Lexa’s head snaps back to Nayia, a question written across her features.

_ “The Elder was more upset than I have ever seen her. She inspected the pyre herself after finding a family missing. She did not tell me any more, but instructed me to give you this.” _

A piece of folded paper is withdrawn from Nayia’s light armour. She holds it out for inspection, an unbroken seal facing up.

_ “She said you would understand.” _

Oh. There are only a few topics Elenor wouldn’t trust her messenger with. None of them good, if related to the attack. Quickly accepting the letter from Nayia, Lexa inspects the seal. It hasn’t been tampered with, and she breaks it to read the message within.

As she reads, her face grows more and more pale. Another one. They’ve lost another Nightblood. She feels Heda’s conflict within her. Part raging, screaming, for vengeance. Another part more calculating. Wondering if this was planned.

Without a word she hands the paper to Ryder, who skims it over quickly. His eyes meet hers, apprehension filling them. He snaps out of it, training kicking in. He throws a loaded glance at Nayia before answering Lexa’s silent question.

“It’s too much of a coincidence, with their path taking them deeper into Trikru. I thought at first they were heading to the Maun-de or TonDC, but now?”

Lexa nods. That feeling at the bottom of her stomach growing heavier. A thought makes her rethink Wanheda’s actions. Suddenly it feels less disturbing.

“You think they knew.”

It’s not a question, but Ryder nods regardless.

————

The feeling at the bottom of her stomach hasn’t gone away, and Lexa wonders if it truly is a foreshadowing, or if she simply ate something bad earlier. Ryder stands to the side and slightly behind the throne. He carries the head of the Azgeda warrior, now enclosed in a waterproof sack. No need to be able to smell the rot, at least no more than absolutely necessary.

Lexa looks out over her throne room. The ambassadors have assembled once again. The usual voices grumble and snark about being called for an unscheduled meeting. She doesn’t care. Today, Lexa has no time for politics. No patience. She doesn’t bother silencing their petty squabbles. She simply raises her voice and speaks.

_ “A short while ago, I called you together to discuss an attack on one of our villages.” _

There’s still some murmuring, but most have their attention turned fully towards her.

_ “An eyewitness claimed Azgeda warriors had attacked a group of children and Healer’s Seconds.” _

The murmurs pick up volume slightly. Glances are cast toward the Azgeda ambassador who sits with his head held high, though a frown mars his face. Lexa can almost read the thought on his face. Why is this being brought up again?

_ “A few days ago, another attack occurred outside Drom.” _

The scrunched expression on the ambassador’s face makes Lexa wonder. Perhaps the man does not know. Perhaps he has been kept in the dark.

_ “A family of three were killed, however this time..” _

Ryder steps forward. They have discussed exactly how this will play out. He has replaced all the guards in the room with only those trusted explicitly. Outside the throne room, a group is currently busy rifling through the Azgeda delegation’s rooms.

He reaches the table placed in the middle of the room, in front of Heda’s throne, and close enough to the ambassadors that they will be able to see. The sack slams down on the table, no considerations shown for the deceased within. All eyes on him, he repeats the motions of the messenger. Slowly but surely the string holding the sack closed is undone, and Ryder rolls the fabric down.

Most of the ambassadors have seen similar things before. The Kongeda had not been united through diplomacy alone after all. But even so, it is not every day they see a severed head. And definitely not one in such a state. Lexa can tell the moment the smell reaches them. She doesn’t envy them. Hopes doesn’t reach up to her throne.

_ “At the time, the Azgeda ambassador pointed out that we only had a single eyewitness. That even if they had been Azgeda, they might have been rogues. They might have been banished.” _

Lexa pins the man with a glare, but he’s too busy staring at the severed head to notice. All the ambassadors are still too far away to take in the details of the head. But then, someone notices. It starts slowly, their face paling even further. The Floukru ambassador’s anxious face peers up at Lexa.

_ “Heda..” _

Awareness ripples down the line of ambassadors, and one by one they realise what has been done, what has happened. This is the moment Lexa has been waiting for.

_ “Five Azgeda warriors attacked a family of three. Slaughtered them. What we found was more than three bodies.” _

She lets it sink in. Watches as the Azgeda ambassador begins to fidget, looking deeply uncomfortable.

_ “Unfortunately for the warriors, someone found them during the attack. We found five bodies, not three. Five bodies, and a pyre large enough for the killed family.”  _ Eyes roving from ambassador to ambassador.  _ “Wanheda found them.” _

Really, she shouldn’t have to say more than that. Wanheda found them.

_ “She apparently took offense to the senseless slaughter. Wanheda took care of it. What was left was five Azgeda bodies. Stripped of their armour. Stripped of their weapons. Then, as you can see, she Marked them.” _

One of the ambassadors' attempts to hold back his disgust fails. He barely manages to turn around before he is sick across the floor. With a wave of her hand, Lexa beckons one of the Ambassadors staff over to help clean up the mess.

_ “You all know what it means, of course. What it also means, is that we finally have some evidence.” _

Her head turns sharply to pin the Azgeda ambassador under her stare. Surprisingly, he looks just as disgusted and upset as Lexa feels. Just as afraid about what this could mean. Before Lexa has a time to call for his arrest, he motions to be allowed to speak. Lexa considers for a moment, but allows it.

_ “Heda. My apologies. I.. “  _ Clearly struggling between the choice of duties to Heda and to the Azgeda Queen. With slow and deliberate movements, he points at the severed head.  _ “He was my friend. Though, last I saw him he did not have as many ritual scars.” _

Surprise. That’s the first thing that registers for Lexa. An Azgeda willingly giving up information? Willingly agreeing to talk? And a few of the scars did indeed look newer, more pronounced.

_ “From what I know, he was supposed to be training. Deep in the north.” _

_ “Ambassador, are you suggesting they went rogue?” _

He shakes his head in the negative. Still pointing at the severed head, he continues with a slightly wobbly voice. Fear creeping in.

_ “Those aren’t scars of banishment, they’re scars of a special group.“ _

He never gets to finish the sentence. Blood drips from the dagger now embedded in his throat. Eyes still locked on Lexa, he blinks once. A sincere apology shining briefly before growing clouded from pain.

The guards jump into action. Surrounding the attacker and forcing her to the ground. They search the rest of the support staff, not finding any more weapons. One of Lexa’s personal guards, who is also an emergency healer, checks on the Azgeda ambassador. A negative shake of the head is all Lexa receives. Already dead.

The guards have attached shackles to the attacker, and are raising her up. She does not fight them, nor does she aid them. Lexa knows something is wrong when the attacker starts to shake softly. A defiant and shaky shout is all she manages before collapsing.

_ “She will win!” _

_ Well that wasn’t vague at all. _

Stepping closer to the collapsed assassin, Lexa notices a cut on her hand. She calls for the guards to stop moving the assassin. Lexa reaches down for the limp arm, and grasps it carefully. She lifts it, watching as a residue around the cut glints in the torch light. Taking a sniff, Lexa quickly identifies the source.

_ “Hemlock! Get her to a healer, now!” _

**_Don’t you dare die. Not until I give you your last cut._ **

Turning back to the ambassadors, she finds them reeling back from her. She turns to Ryder and raises an eyebrow in question. He blinks in surprise. The tone of his voice gives away the problem before his words catch up.

“Your eyes, Heda.”

Attempting to reign in her temper, Lexa sighs. It’s been a while since her eyes glowed. People aren’t used to flaming orange anymore. Now that she’s aware of it, she can feel Heda more solidly within herself. More at the front. She pulls back at them gently, dragging them back.

Feeling more centered, she opens her eyes again, and finds Ryder smiling softly at her. He knows they will talk later.

Finally, Lexa turns to the ambassadors. A sharp, dangerous, look on her face.

_ “It would appear we have a problem.” _

_ ———— _

Lexa groans as her back hits the softness of the sofa. Exhaustion from her earlier training having caught up to her. Annoyance at ambassadors and assassins. Frustration with how many demands are made on her; made on her time. Expectations to always be ready. She knows why, of course, but it makes it no less stressful.

Lexa only has a few precious minutes to herself before Ryder will be arriving. Just a few minutes of rest. Despite all the frustration and annoyance, she is actually pleased. Heda finally showed themselves again. Hopefully this will help lay to rest the rumours that the spirit had left her.

A knock rattles the door, followed by Ryder’s deep baritone voice. Telling him to enter, she sits up more straight.

Ryder enters with an apologetic look on his face, and of course. Something’s come up.

_ “What is it?” _

_ “Nothing too bad, I hope. Just a missive from Indra.” _

_ Well, that certainly could be bad. _

He falls gracelessly into the chair opposite her, before giving her a smug look.

_ “You know, I’m sure you’re hoarding all the best furniture.” _

Lexa huffs, amused. They’ve had this argument many times, and Ryder never fails to bring it up. At least he doesn’t comment on her collection of candles. Shoving aside titles and proper procedures, she gives him a fond smile and reaches out for the letter.

_ “You’re still free to take your chair back, you know. Now, give.” _

He pauses for a second, watching the pout form on Lexa as she makes grabbing motions with her hand. It’s rare to see her let go, and it never fails to bring a smile to his face. Giving in, he hands over the letter and waits in silence as Lexa reads through the contents. Watches as her face twitches first in confusion and then resignation.

_ “It would seem Indra has captured Linkon.” _

_ “Captured? Why would she.. Oh.” _

Lexa just shrugs, and throws a longing look towards the door to her bedroom. She won’t be using that tonight.

_ “Let’s go. I want to see for myself what Skaikru has done now.” _

Ryder’s eyes widen, and Lexa hands over the letter for him to read. It doesn’t take long for him to understand why Lexa wants to go. Handing back the letter, he voices the question on both their minds:

_ “Why would he bring two injured Skaikru with him?” _

Ryder rises from his favourite chair, already missing it. They share a commiserating glance. Ryder can’t help himself, and in a deadpan voice points out the best part about leaving Polis.

_ “At least we get to avoid Titus.” _

He’s met with strangled laughter and a fond look.

————

Clarke staggers out of the leatherworker’s workshop, with a bundle of adjusted armour in her arms. She can’t wait to wear the final result, especially with the improvements and gifts from the weaponsmith.

Elenor had introduced them, and informed the craftsmen exactly what she expected of them. Expectations that were much higher than Clarke had anticipated, and much more than she could afford. Instead of explaining, Elenor had given Clarke a sly wink and said they’d see her later. Then she’d taken Madi and headed away from the noise and smells of the busy street.

Now, stepping foot inside Elenor’s home, Clarke hopes to finally get some answers.

Clearly having heard her, Madi sprints through the hallway. She doesn’t stop in time, and crashes into Clarke, who stumbles backwards a step. Clarke grins down at her small friend.

_ “Missed me?” _

An affirmative yip. Madi stands close to Clarke, pushing into her. Carefully setting down her armour, Clarke reaches down to pick up Madi. The wolf burrows into her embrace.

_ “She cannot stay away from you for long.” _

Clarke looks up to find Elenor leaning against the doorway to the living area. The fond smile on her face does not conceal the worry in her voice. Feeling like the older woman has more to tell her, Clarke moves towards the seats. In the short time she’s known her, Clarke has grown fond of Elenor. Trusts her. Intuition backed up by a vague, but warm, feeling.

_ “What’s wrong, Elenor?” _

Settling in the seat opposite her, Elenor reaches for Clarke’s hand. She grasps it before continuing.

_ “Not wrong, as such. It’s just.. Nightbloods are rare. More of us survived the Great Flames than those with red blood, but still. We are rare.”  _ She pauses to squeeze Clarke’s hand.  _ “I know you will take good care of her, Klark. But, there are still things you cannot teach her. Knowledge you cannot give her. _

_ Normally.. Normally, we send Nightbloods to Polis. Once old enough, they will travel with a parent or a guard and learn with other Nightbloods. If they have found their animal form, they are taught to control it. We are taught what to keep secret. What we can share.” _

Clarke frowns, understanding that this must be how they keep their people safe. How their sanctuaries survived through the Great Flames. However, not liking the sound of having to go to Polis.

_ “Klark. Madi is only three years old. We do not bring them to Polis until they reach the age of six.”  _ Elenor watches the relief flow settling Clarke.  _ “As you know, I am the Elder of Drom. I run the city, and work with the guard to ensure it is safe. However, as I am also a Nightblood, I have additional responsibilities.” _

_ “You protect them.” _

Elenor nods.

_ “I protect them, keep them safe. I report directly to Heda, but I do not tell her of any young Nightbloods until I have to. If there are no messages about them, they are easier to keep secret. Especially after the last Conclave.” _

Clarke puzzles through her memories. There are scattered mentions of a conclave, but nothing to explain the worry and fear radiating from Elenor.

_ “Conclave? None of my hosts have ever attended one, and I was in space for the last Conclave. I don’t know what happened.” _

_ “As you know, they are meant to be a showcase of skill. Nightbloods can participate if they wish, and compete in a variety of challenges. In each category, the best candidate wins the right to be Second to the best master of the discipline, from the best warrior to the most renowned blacksmith. The last one, something went wrong.”  _ Elenor gets a faraway look in her eyes, and Clarke just knows. Whatever happened, it was bad, and Elenor was there to see it. _ “Heda chose their host early in the Conclave, and Lexa, she shone so brightly. Like a flame. The last challenge came up, an arena fight with swords, meant to showcase their speed and agility against overwhelming numbers.” _

Clarke stays silent. Squeezes Elenor’s hand gently in support, and gives her the time to collect her thoughts.

_ “It was sabotaged. Competitors meant to stand aside when wounded. The last one standing, with no wounds, would be the winner. We found out later, someone had poisoned them all. Similar to the hallucinations caused by Jobi nuts, but it also made them aggressive. Made them think they truly were enemies. One managed to regain sanity after killing her brother in a frenzy. Even Lexa was affected, though Heda helped her maintain control. The rest though? The rest were savages. No better than Reapers. _

_ They attacked each other. Lexa tried to corral them, but she was only one. There were only guards to keep the audience from getting rowdy, not to protect them from the competitors. _

_ As the first Nightblood made it to the crowd and started attacking them, Lexa truly took action. She cut down the ones still standing, trying to avoid killing them. Those who didn’t die from their wounds died from the poison. I’m sure Lexa only survived because of the Spirit of Heda.” _

And that. That’s a lot to take in, even for Clarke, for Wanheda. She’s starting to understand just why Lexa claims love is a weakness. Why she is so closed off. Clarke aches, because nobody should go through that. Nobody should have to injure their friends to protect them and other innocents. Nobody should have to watch those friends die anyway.

_ “We never found who sabotaged the Conclave.”  _ A feral sound escapes Elenor, and Clarke can feel her shaking with suppressed rage.  _ “We never got justice. So we keep our young secret, for as long as possible.” _

Elenor glances towards the bundle of armour and Clarke’s weapons before continuing. A serious expression taking hold.

_ “This is why every Nightblood is assigned an elite guard, as soon as they reach Polis. Madi has already been attacked one, and while I am certain you will keep her safe, I will feel much better if you are properly equipped to do so.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit more fluff in this chapter, I think they definitely deserve it! Things are starting to accelerate, and they need to enjoy the few moments of peace they get in their busy lives.  
> There's quite a bit of world building happening in this chapter, but I hope it's not too much :)
> 
> Thank you all for the kind words so far. I very much look forward to seeing what you think of this chapter!


	14. Ch 14 - Unknown Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lincoln, Monty, and Raven are dragged to TonDC. Nyko explains a few things to them, and sees to their wounds.

“Bring the traitor and the Skaikru. Bind them if necessary. Heda will want to know why they venture so far from their metal village.”

————

Nyko is surprisingly gentle as he helps Raven down from the cot. His eyes snap to her leg as soon as she’s standing, quickly spotting the injury.

“Can you walk?”

The contrast between Nyko’s friendly tone and Indra’s harsh bark makes Raven pause, remembering Lincoln’s promise. They’ll be fine. They have to be, and if that means cooperating, then so be it.

“Slowly, but yes. I’ll need painkillers, but I can walk.”

Raven points to Monty’s backpack, sitting on the floor by his cot. She makes a move towards it, but a sharp bark from the warrior at Nyko’s back has her freezing in place. Raven leans back against the cot, and raises her hands slightly to appear less hostile. Nyko makes a pained noise and rolls his eyes, frustration with the warrior clear.

“Go ahead, check it. Bring it to me if there’s nothing unsafe.”

Without giving a response, the stoic warrior stalks towards the backpack. She unzips it, obviously used to the mechanism. With surprising respect, she rifles through the contents. She frowns in confusion at Monty’s glass tablet, but lays it carefully on the ground. Raven is keeping a close eye on the search, making sure nothing is damaged.

A metal ball is pulled out of the bag, pin still securely preventing the grenade from going off, and Raven blanches as she remembers packing them. Attempting to prevent the situation from getting any worse, she decides to warn the warrior.

“Uh.. Be careful with those. They’re dangerous and can explode.”

The warrior looks up, and Raven gasps at the piercing look. It’s not malicious, but calculating. Rebooting, she notices the smug smirk on the warriors face.

“I know.”

_ What the hell. Do the Grounders have grenades too? _

“See, the Skaikru are not without honour.”

As if in a daze, Raven looks back at Nyko who just complimented them. His approving smile and warm twinkling eyes setting her even more off-balance. Turning to Monty, she finds her own confusion mirrored.

_ What just happened? Did they just test us? _

Since getting back on her feet, the pain has been building. Slowly but surely, making itself known. She forces her thoughts back into logical order. Trying to adjust her stance, she winces slightly as the pain becomes more pronounced.

“You can keep the backpack. Search it more, but please. There’s a little orange bottle. I need one of the pills inside if we have to walk.” Raven casts a glance at Monty, knowing how much she will regret this. “Give two to Monty.”

The warrior gives her a searching look, but doesn’t hesitate to dig out the ancient prescription bottle. Nyko grabs the bottle, and gives it an intrigued look before handing it to Raven. He grabs the waterskin at his side, and holds it out without a word.

“Thank you.”

It takes a while for the pills to kick in, but the warriors seem to be in a rush. Lincoln has already been removed from the bunker. Indra’s voice rings through the small bunker, telling Nyko to speed up.

He seems apologetic, but an order is an order. Nyko and the warrior watching them help Raven up the ladder. She stands aside as Monty is carried up through the opening by the warrior, with Nyko carrying their things.

Monty’s feet hit the ground, and he stands on wobbling feet for a moment before Raven rushes to him. Moving an arm across her shoulder, he lets out a tired and pained wheeze.

————

The walk to TonDC is agonising. Monty and Raven are kept behind the main group, with Nyko and his ever-present bodyguard for company. They stumble through the forest, pain dulled but not gone.

In front of them, Lincoln is bound by rope. Across his ankles, and with his arms tightly behind his back. He’s stoic, saying nothing despite the occasional heated word from one of the half-dozen warriors surrounding him. He’s been searched, stripped of weapons. And yet, he looks more dangerous than Monty remembers ever seeing.

Nyko’s face wrinkles with worry as the trip goes on; as they slow down. He calls for the group to stop for a rest, and to Monty’s surprise the warriors listen to him. Indra doesn’t even frown, instead just giving them a calculating look.

The lukewarm water he gulps down helps. The pain stays, but he feels better. The haze of the painkillers lifts a little, and Monty can finally think more clearly. More cautiously.

He takes in the divide between the groups. How they aren’t outright helping Raven and him, but how they silently support them. They might be prisoners, but there is respect shining in Nyko’s eyes. It’s mirrored in the warrior’s eyes, though offset by wariness.

He remembers Clarke’s advice, that he should seek sanctuary in her name if necessary. He doesn’t. Not yet at least. Something else is going on here, and Monty wants answers first.

Feeling more refreshed after the break, he catches Raven’s eyes. She helps him up, and the group sets off again. The pace is faster, and just as the sun indicates mid-day, they reach TonDC.

TonDC. It had been struck by a missile. Monty remembers the fallout, remembers how people had to be dug out of fallen houses. A TonDC that had seemed broken beyond belief. A village that hasn’t been rebuilt.

“That wasn’t all of TonDC.” Nyko’s gruff voice cuts through Monty’s thoughts. “TonDC is an outpost. A place for our army to stage war against the Maun-de.” Seeing a question building on Monty’s face, Nyko elaborates: “The clans. We do not always agree. Multiple outposts were made, so each clan could have a space for their own. The missile was a harsh blow, yes, but we will rebuild.”

They pass through the outpost. Past workers tearing down old housing, sorting useful from useless. Through ruin, and deeper into the forest. A winding trail leads further than Monty has ever gone. Into denser trees, and darker underbrush. Towards ancient brick houses, covered entirely by trees. A village devoured by nature.

“Welcome to TonDC.”

A crowd awaits them. Some wear armour. Some are armed. Most stare at Lincoln, anger plainly visible. The guards around him draw closer, and on Indra’s orders he’s shoved towards the most sturdy looking building.

Nyko guides Monty and Raven towards a newer building. One that smells strongly of herbs and medicine. They unconsciously follow Lincoln’s silent lead, walking quietly and observing the village as they are led. Observing different coloured clothes; different appearances and bearings.

“Come. I will tend to your wounds. You will see Linkon again when Heda arrives.”

————

Monty falls asleep within minutes of laying down, and it doesn’t take Raven much longer to follow. They don’t have to know that the food Nyko had given them had been laced with a light sedative. They need sleep, and they need food. And if Nyko hates dealing with unruly patients, well, then it’s just a happy coincidence that they’re asleep. Much easier to deal with after all.

He inspects Monty’s wounds. Removes the bandage that thankfully comes away clean. The wounds haven’t torn open. The paste he has prepared a thick dark green, smelling strongly of medicinal herbs. He slathers it generously on both sides, and wraps Monty up with a fresh bandage.

He leaves Raven alone. She had explained her injury. Already healed, as best as it can be. Nyko can do nothing for her except to help with the pain, which had seemed like more than Raven had expected.

_ Do they not know we have painkillers? _

He shakes his head. Skaikru are strange, and their ways even stranger. But they have impressive tek. Memories of a village. Children and adults lying on the ground, bleeding from tiny wounds caused by Fayagons. He had barely escaped with his own life. Their ways may be strange, but they are dangerous.

Nyko has underestimated them once. He has no intentions of doing so again. He takes a step back to survey the healers house. Taking in the shelves of supplies. Enough for what he needs. He knows Heda well enough, expects that which she must do.

Knowing Indra, Heda will already be on her way. Which means Nyko doesn’t have a lot of time. He needs to prepare. Clearing his mind, he sets about his duties. Preparing ingredients; cutting and mixing to create pastes. Vials are filled with both ingredients and finished medicines. He will be ready.

————

The purple and pink sky of dawn does little to light up the ground under the cover of trees. Waking with the sounds of the village, Nyko is prepared as the young Second respectfully asks for entrance to his domain.

He already knows what will be said, but lets the excited boy recite his message before going to wake Monty and Raven.

“Heda arrives. You are needed in the Hall.”

Nyko instructs the Second to return with food for two, and turns to his patients. The sedative he had given them had worn off quickly, only helping them to sleep. Their exhaustion carried them through the day, and the night. A gentle shake is enough to wake them.

“Heda is arriving. You must eat, and then we will go to the Hall. Linkon will be questioned for his crimes, and then you will be asked why you ran from your village.”

“What will happen to Lincoln? To us?”

Raven’s question pulls a frown from Nyko. Sighing deeply at the knowledge of what his friend has done.

“He disobeyed orders when he helped you at the Maun-de. Became a Natrona. A traitor. Indra does not tolerate traitors. I cannot say for certain what will happen with Linkon. But you, your situation is not unheard of. You may be treated as refugees. Heda will decide.”

“But.. He only went back to help Octavia, and wasn’t she Indra’s Second?”

“I do not know the specifics, but Heda had plans for the Maun-de. She might have made a deal with them.” Nyko sees the anger forming on Raven’s face. He waits for an outburst but nothing comes. “A deal might have been made, but she had plans. Sometimes you have to lose a battle to win the war. Heda knows this well.” He shrugs. “If Linkon had been spotted by the Maunon? They would have struck back, before we were ready.”

Despite the anger curling deep in her stomach, Raven understands. She understands a tactical retreat. She has made plenty herself in her work. The Council always made high demands, and provided little in terms of supplies.

Monty’s hand comes to rest gently on Raven’s shoulder. His voice breaks the silence, sounding clearer and like he is in less pain.

“Clarke was angry. Furious. But she said she would have done the same to protect us.” He shudders. “In the end, what she did was far more drastic.”

Before Raven can respond, the Second comes back with their food and informs Nyko they are expected as soon as possible. They quickly devour the food, happy to have something nutritious for once. Nyko hands them a vial each, a smirk twisting his beard slightly.

“For the pain. It won’t knock you out, this time.”

————

The Hall, as Nyko explains, is a central building place, used for larger meetings and gatherings. He leads them through the narrow streets, lined with trees and seemingly dilapidated buildings. Monty keeps his eyes open, taking in as much as he can.

Whatever the people back at Arkadia might say, these people certainly know how to live with nature. They had never even noticed it. Had not even realised that TonDC would have to be much larger to sustain the army needed for the attack on Mt. Weather.

The hall turns out to be an old warehouse. One wall must have collapsed in the past, and been replaced by a sturdy wooden construction. Nyko leads them inside, through a small corridor and into a room that must occupy half the building. There’s a throne on one side, one Clarke had described to Monty in detail, but the room is empty of people. Nyko leads them to the empty wall opposite the entrance, and pins them with a serious look.

“Whatever happens, do nothing. Do not speak unless spoken to by Indra or Heda. As you are both injured and under my care, you will be permitted to sit, but not until Heda has done so. Do you understand?”

Both Monty and Raven give fervent nods in reply, afraid of what might happen if they step out of line. Moments later a group warriors and seconds enter the room. Two chairs are placed by them, but Monty and Raven remain standing.

The warriors line the walls, standing guard as another group enters with Lincoln. He is led to the middle of the room, and the rope around his ankles is attached to a heavy duty metal rung in the concrete floor. Seeing that everything is secure, the warriors step aside and the doors are opened.

A crowd streams in, nearly a hundred warriors, all wearing different colours and armour. None but the guards bear weapons, but the glares directed at Lincoln are cutting. The crowd settles by the wall in front of the throne, behind Lincoln. Angry and confused noises rise and fall. Some say that Lincoln is a traitor, while others argue he did the right thing.

The crowd settles the moment Indra strides confidently into the emotionally charged room. Tense shoulders, and a hand on the sword carried at her side. She casts a single hateful glare at Lincoln, but otherwise ignores his presence.

“Heda has decided to grace us with her presence today. As such, she will carry out the interrogation of the prisoner and determine his sentence.”

Ryder enters the room, scanning it for threats. His eyes narrow as he spots Monty and Raven, but his gaze only lingers for a second. Finding nothing threatening, he steps aside for Lexa to walk confidently into the room. Seemingly ignoring everyone in the room, she takes a seat on her throne.

“Heda, this traitor defied your orders at the Maun-de. He went back, aiding the Skaikru.”

Lexa leans back, one hand gripping the armrest, and slings one leg over the other. Warpaint on full display, she finally looks down at Lincoln. Her eyes find his, and flicker down to his arm for a moment, but her expression does not change.

“Explain.”

Lincoln gives a reverent bow of this head. His steady voice raises in volume, easily reaching the corners of the room. Monty grips Raven’s arm gently, hoping to keep them both calm.

“Sha, Heda. I, along with the rest of the war-party, went back to TonDC. It was there I noticed a warrior’s second had not returned with us. I went back towards the Maun-de, it is true, but I did not aid in the Skaikru attack. I remained hidden, searching for the second. I did not find her until Skaikru had already started leaving the Maun-de.”

Lincoln’s gaze is firmly fixed at the base of the throne.

“A scouting party passed by, and I intercepted them with news of the Skaikru escape. They had orders to observe, and I decided to follow my instinct. I followed Skaikru back to their metal village. Back to Arkadia, as they call it. The wayward second was among the Skaikru, and she vouched for me. I was let inside, and attempted to foster good relations. They did not trust me, and their leaders refused to meet with me.

I intended to leave, however, the Skaikru distrust of us extends now to their own children. To their own people. Their leaders keep their gate locked, and their fence is deadly. I was only allowed to leave under guard, under the guise of helping them hunt.”

Lincoln briefly looks towards Monty and Raven, an apologetic look in his eyes.

“The rest of what I have to say is for your ears only, Heda.”

Lexa wears a considerate look. She leans forward, and holds Lincoln’s gaze as her eyes begin to flare orange. The crowd gasps, but Lincoln doesn’t look surprised. Monty and Raven sit frozen in their seats.

**“Indeed. Everyone out.”** Lexa tilts her head, staring directly at Monty with a knowing look in her flaming eyes.  **“Everyone, except Nyko and our guests.”**

The guards step in immediately, corralling the crowd through the doors. Minutes later, after the room has cleared, Lexa rises from her throne. Flanked by Indra and Ryder, she steps towards Lincoln. A gesture from Lexa has Indra move to Lincoln. Her expression changes from hateful to amused as she undoes his bindings.

Lincoln stands, taking his time to stretch. A broad smile takes over his face. Lincoln looks down at Lexa, and spreads his arms. Lexa steps into the offered embrace and hugs him back fiercely.

“It’s good to see you too, little sister.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m evil, so you get a bit of a cliffhanger here >:0


	15. Ch 15 - When They Call My Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lincoln explains his actions to Lexa and Indra. Monty and Raven get answers to some of their questions, and manage to settle into life at TonDC. Word reaches them of a potential visitor.

“It’s good to see you too, little sister.”

————

_Sister? What the fuck._

Lexa reluctantly eases out of the embrace, throwing a fond look at Lincoln. She looks him over. Takes in the few bruises, the burn of rope around his wrists. At least he’s not got any cuts. Glancing at Indra, who has moved to stand stoically beside Lincoln, Lexa sighs.

“What happened? Why did you break cover?”

_Cover?_

Lincoln’s smile drops. His posture straightens, and any trace of familiarity vanishes as quickly as it appeared. No longer a brother seeing his sister for the first time in months. Instead, a hardened warrior stands in front of his commanding officer. He briefly turns to Monty and Raven, and the hardened facade breaks for a moment as he gives an apologetic smile.

“Skaikru’s leaders are preparing for war.”

_Excuse me, what now?!_

“They fear us, Heda. As you must know, their Council has sent warriors to the Maun-de. They desire the weapons within; the tek that has oppressed this region since the Great Flames.”

_The great what now? Does he mean the bombs?_

“They are fortifying their metal village. The walls that surround it are deadly if touched. They oppress their people, and treat them like criminals. They are watched; kept in check.” Lincoln gestures to Raven and Monty. “Those that are important are treated only slightly better.

The rest? They get less food, worse clothing, and are expected to work longer. That’s their plan. Those that do not provide worth are not supposed to survive winter.”

“Ok what the fuck. What’s going on here?! Who are you, and how the hell do you know all that?!”

Raven’s outburst cuts through Lincoln’s report, silencing the room. Indra turns towards her with a murderous look in her eyes. She goes to open her mouth, but a hand on her shoulder stops her. Lexa gives a sharp nod to Lincoln, and he turns to explain.

“I have never lied to you about who I am. But, I have not been truthful to you about what I am.”

Hearing this, Raven is about to start shouting again. However, Monty clearly notices, grabbing her arm to get her attention and shakes his head. “No Raven, listen. We all have secrets, give him a chance to come clean before you blow up on him.”

“I am a scout, true. But I did not live in TonDC. Anya sent me to observe you when you landed. Unlike what your people believe of us, we are not savages. We are cautious. You arrived and spoke Gonasleng, a language unknown to most of our people. You have tek, like the Maunon did. We were afraid the Maunon had found a way to live outside, that they would come for the rest of our people”

Lincoln sees Raven sitting more calmly, considering his words. He knows she is smart, calculating even. A motion from Lexa encourages him to continue.

“We needed to know if you were a threat. In the beginning? You were children, fumbling through the woods. Harmless, we thought. You didn’t stay that way. Reivon arrived in her glowing metal construction. Your people got access to fayagons. Your people murdered each other. Setting fire to a village. Interrupting a meeting with violence.”

Indra’s cold voice cuts in.

“You made yourselves more and more threatening. We couldn’t ignore it.”

“I already had orders to infiltrate. Helping Octavia when she was wounded was seen as a way to get entrance to your camp. I ended up falling for her regardless, though I’m unsure now.”

Lexa’s head snaps towards Lincoln at his words. Frown warring with a fond smile.

“The group that came to ‘rescue’ Octavia was expected, but my instincts unfortunately kicked in and I stabbed the boy, Finn. Your violent welcome was expected, even if your methods were unusual, Reivon.”

_Oh, right. The electrocution part. Yeah, that happened._

“You already know that I escaped, but I had gotten what I wanted. A better layout of your camp. Found the weaknesses in your defenses, and met your leaders.” A respectful nod towards Monty. “Even then, Wanheda was formidable.”

_Who is Wanheda?_

Indra interrupts again, words laced with regret.

“Eventually I decided you’d become too dangerous. I ordered you to be subdued and taken to TonDC as prisoners. We did not want you dead. Tristan disagreed. Vehemently. He learned the hard way not to anger Wanheda, as she burned him and 300 of my warriors alive.”

_Wait. Clarke?_

“I had already been taken by the Maunon , and they made me into a reaper. Wanheda saved my life when she escaped. However, it must be clear to you now, that I was sent to observe, to infiltrate. Not to sabotage, but to gain information.” Again looking to Monty, Lincoln continues. “While you took down the Maunon , I ‘escaped’ from TonDC and went looking for Octavia. I knew she was my best bet to get into Arkadia. I did not know she was inside the Maun-de, so searched outside for any trails.”

“Heda, some of the Maunon escaped. I found a trail leading into the forest from one of the reaper tunnels. They were far ahead of me, but it was a small group. At least five people, and they must have had help. Their trail led to a small clearing, and the trail changed. Someone had horses ready.”

_“Jok.” (Fuck)_

“By the time I made it back to the entrance of the Maun-de, your people were already walking back. I saw Octavia and helped with the wounded.”

Lincoln knows that they will demand more answers later, but for now he needs to finish giving his report to Heda. She needs to know. He turns back, facing Lexa.

“As I said, a group of Maunon escaped. I did not see who, and I probably wouldn’t be able to recognize them if I did. The clearing that held horses had a small camp. It was cleared entirely. No trace of which clan it was. Whoever did it was well trained. They knew exactly what to look for, and it was far from any borders, so they could have been from anywhere. Even the trail left behind by the horses only led deeper into Trikru. No doubt they will have changed direction and horses many times.”

“When I joined Skaikru, I thought they would be angry with us due to the deal you had to make with the Maunon, Heda. However, anger isn’t heated enough to describe the feelings that evening. Hatred. Roiling, flowing hatred. Most were simply relieved to be free, especially among the original Skaikru that landed. However, the guards and adults with them? They were furious. One tried to subdue me, and it was only on Octavia’s word that I had gone against orders to give aid that they stopped.

In the days that followed, I was watched carefully. I stayed close to Octavia, Montee, Jasper, and Reivon. I offered to help with training. To hunt, and to live from the forest. Only the guards were allowed to participate.”

“They denied medical help to some of the wounded, like Reivon. Too risky, and too few supplies they said. They treat the original Skaikru as prisoners. Slave labour. One meal a day, two if they are skilled. They are kept in tents, unsuited for winter.

Their Council, a group of Elders, demanded access to the Maun-de. To the tek and weapons within. A group of warriors was sent out, but found the entrance closed. They sent another group with Montee and Reivon. They could not get in, and they were punished as a result. No food for two days. No pain relief for Reivon. The last I heard, the Council attempted to go through the reaper tunnels to gain access, but found them flooded.”

Lexa sighs. She walks back to her throne and drops into it gracefully. Picking at the armrest with one hand, she pins her brother with a look.

“You are correct, Linkon. Wanheda sealed the entrance, Marked it with the blood of her enemy. She has claimed the Maun-de as hers, and I for one do not wish to anger Wanheda.”

Monty leans forward, gasping and grabbing at his side as pain lances through the closed wound. Everyone turns to him. Nyko holds out a waterskin that Monty turns down, while Lexa gives him a considerate look.

“You know something.”

It’s not a question, but Monty knows that tone of voice. He remembers Clarke’s advice. Trust Lexa, but don’t follow blindly.

“Mt. Weather’s security system is very advanced. The place used to be a military compound, but just before the.. Uh.. Great Flames, it was opened to civilians. It might have been built to house nearly a thousand people in an emergency, but it was a military base. With military weapons. Weapons like the acid fog, like the missiles.

Most were disabled during the war, to be safer for civilians.”

Monty coughs awkwardly, certain they won’t be happy with him.

“When we left, Clarke made herself President.” Raven gasps beside him, and he expects understanding to be filling her eyes. “Somehow, the system already recognized her as someone of high rank. We were able to transfer full control of all systems to her. And her alone. Sorry Raven, but I didn’t want Abby to be able to use me to get access.” He casts an apologetic look at her, but finds her nodding in agreement.

“And then when we left, she locked it down. I know she activated the security systems, but I don’t know exactly how, where, or what they are. What I do know, is that nobody other than Clarke can get into Mt. Weather. It’s a fortress, and she’s the only key.”

Of all the possible reactions Monty had expected to receive, he never once thought Lexa would give a relieved “Thank you”. Even Indra’s drawn face seemed to smooth into something gentler at his words. Lincoln is the only one that seems unsurprised. Then again, Lincoln is apparently a spy.

“I know you have many questions.” Lexa says, looking at Monty and Raven. “But, I will call for some food while Nyko looks over your wounds.”

————

Finally feeling comfortably full, Raven pushes her plate slightly away and turns to Lincoln.

“So. Lexa is your sister?”

Eyes darting to Lexa, he slowly nods.

“Yes. Though it is obviously not well known, so I am trusting you to keep it to yourself.”

“And Indra? Why did you pretend to be a prisoner? Why did she look like she hates you more than she hates us?”

A grimace crosses both Lincoln and Indra’s faces. Indra speaks up with a slightly dejected tone.

“As a warrior, he broke a direct order from Heda to stay away from the Maun-de. However, at the same time he obeyed an order from her to infiltrate you. As far as Trikru and the Kongeda knows, he was only to stay away from the Maun-de.

Scouts are valued, but Linkon is more than just a scout. He is trained in infiltration and obtaining secrets from enemies. This is normally considered dishonourable by our people, but it is necessary. So, Linkon’s skills and his orders are kept secret. Most of our warriors do not even know of the existence of such scouts. Something we would like to keep unknown, especially when TonDC is still teeming with warriors and refugees from other clans.”

“You think there are spies among you.”

Instead of replying, Indra turns to Lexa who takes a moment to consider her words carefully.

“I united the clans into the Kongeda. Some clans think themselves more important, more valuable. They demand much and give little.” Lexa’s head tilts to the side, observing Raven closely. “Culture and traditions change within each clan. Much like your Skaikru appears to have groups of different opinions, the clans sometimes stand divided.”

Head still tilted, she turns to Monty. He’s stayed quiet for most of the meeting, something Lexa hadn’t expected.

“She Marked you, didn’t she?”

Beside her, Indra gasps. Glaring at Lincoln who sits stoically and says nothing. Shifting her gaze to an anxiously nodding Monty, turning less intimidating as she does so. Raven, as usual, is the one that can’t stay quiet.

“What the hell is this Marking you keep talking about?”

She’s greeted with silence. Lexa looks encouragingly at Monty, who finally seems to find his voice.

“Their.. Religion, for lack of a better word, is about Spirits. Not gods, but multiple spirits. Some are powerful, and some are less so. From what I know, there are two main Spirits, considered the most well known and most powerful.” Monty points at Lexa. “Heda is one, or the host to one? I’m not sure how it works.”

“Host. Spirits need a human host to interact with the world.” Lexa cuts in.

“And according to Lincoln, they can Mark people. Something to do with loyalty and who they consider family. Only others with the same Mark can see it, to protect them.” Looking up at Lincoln, Monty shrugs. “Lincoln told me about it after we broke out of the mountain. Clarke had called herself Wanheda and said if it came to it, I should go to Lexa. Sorry, I mean Heda, and ask for Sanctuary on the orders of Wanheda.”

Lexa’s eyes widen. That she had not expected. Detecting no deceit from Monty, she swiftly makes the decision. Eyes flickering orange like flames.

**“And you shall have it, both of you.”**

Seeing Lexa’s eyes glow, and hearing her voice take on an echoing quality, any doubt Monty still harboured vanishes.

“Thank you. I must admit I didn’t fully believe Lincoln until we escaped Arkadia. Until my arm burned.” Monty lifts his right arm up and rests it on the table, looking down at a spot only he can see. “Until this appeared.”

“Monty, there’s nothing there.”

“Maybe not that you can see, Raven. But I know it’s real. I can almost feel her. When I got shot, it was like I could hear her voice in my head. Telling me to keep going, to keep running. To get to safety.”

Fear and incredulity has been building on Raven’s face. Why would anyone believe in something so illogical? Why did Lexa’s eyes just glow, and how did her voice echo like that?

Both Indra and Lexa notices, and knowing Indra’s way with words, Lexa interrupts before Indra has a chance.

“Reivon, from what Klark has told me and what I have seen myself, you are a woman of science. I don’t have a good way to explain it, but I’m sure Klark will when you see her.”

Leaning back, Lexa spins the wooden utensil in her hand as she thinks.

“You do not have to believe, I only wish to explain.” She waits for Raven’s nod before continuing. “In my people’s belief, as Montee said, there are two main spirits. Heda and Wanheda. The Commander and the Commander of Death, as they are known in Gonasleng. Heda rests within me, and chose me as a host during an event called the Conclave, when I was younger. Where Heda is always around, Wanheda is much more reclusive. She is older, from before the Great Flames, and only picks a host during times of strife. This is why she is known as the Commander of Death, as she usually appears around great battles.”

“And Clarke, she’s supposed to be this Wanheda?”

“It would appear so. She told Montee about Sanctuary, something I have never mentioned to Klark. She claimed the Maun-de, by painting Wanheda’s symbol with the blood of her enemy. One of my scouts spoke with her when she Marked the entrance. Said that Klark bore all the marks of, and claimed to be, Wanheda.”

Lexa pauses, unsure how much to reveal. But, she has granted them Sanctuary. They deserve to know as much as she is allowed to say.

“You might have noticed my eyes can glow orange. This happens when Heda’s powers are used, or if they want to speak directly with someone, like what happened when Montee mentioned Sanctuary.

For Wanheda, the host’s eyes will glow purple. This is what my scout, Alexis, saw. She also saw some of Wanheda’s powers already manifesting. Klark left the Maun-de with no trail, walking through the forest with as much skill as our most skilled trackers. We couldn’t follow her.

And then, yesterday, I got a message from an Elder of one of our towns. A family had been outside in the forest, when they were attacked by Azgeda warriors. The family perished, but the warriors were all slain. They were found stripped of their belongings, and Wanheda’s mark was cut into their foreheads.”

“But anyone could have done that?”

“You are correct, but it is a crime punishable by death to imitate a sacred Mark. And, there are those of us who can tell if it is real or not. These people were killed by Klark, with strength not natural to humans. And again, there were no trails leading away from the fight.”

Lincoln’s shocked voice breaks the silence that has fallen.

“So that’s why I could feel your anger the other day?”

“Not angry about Wanheda, but just days before I got news that Azgeda warriors had slain a group of Healer’s Seconds. Children.”

————

Nyko had interrupted their discussion shortly after, claiming that Monty and Raven needed rest and medical care. He wanted to look over the wounds, and provide them with healing salves.

They left Lexa, Lincoln, and Indra behind to discuss the best story for Lincoln’s release. It had been decided that since he was looking for a wayward Second, and didn’t actually cross any boundaries near the Maun-de, that he hadn’t broken orders. He had been released, with Indra making a statement to the village at large.

Now, three days later, Lincoln still receives the odd angry look as he walks through the overgrown town. Some still think him a traitor, despite Heda backing up Indra’s ruling, but none dare go against them.

Lincoln isn’t worried. They’ll adjust in time, just like they always do. It’s not the first time he’s had to do something technically treasonous to follow orders. And, it’s probably not the last time either.

Octavia.

She had been spotted at the Dropship, helped by Bellamy who had left shortly after. The scout that had come to report it, also claims Octavia has set off towards TonDC. Lincoln isn’t sure if he’s ready to speak with her just yet, but he needs to at least inform his family.

Stepping into Nyko’s home, he quickly locates Monty and Raven resting on guest beds in the living area. They look up at his approach, seemingly eager to get out from Nyko’s tender clutches. Having experienced it firsthand, Lincoln doesn’t blame them in the slightest.

“Come. Octavia managed to get out of Arkadia, and we think she’s on her way here. Indra and Heda would hear your thoughts on her, and what you think is happening in Arkadia.”

Jumping at the chance to get out, they quickly get dressed. Clothes provided by Indra, to help them blend in, and avoid too many questions of who they are.

Despite having been in the real TonDC for a few days now, Monty and Raven still haven’t had the chance to fully explore, so they follow closely behind Lincoln as he leads the way to Indra’s private home. A much newer wooden cabin set in a small clearing amongst towering trees. A few guards stand at attention outside, but let them pass without question.

They get settled quickly, and Lexa doesn’t waste any time in asking the question she needs answered.

“Can we trust Octavia? She had only seen the part of TonDC that the missile hit, as we kept this part secret.”

Both Raven and Monty take their time to really consider it. Neither are that close with Octavia, and she has distanced herself from them since their escape from Mt. Weather. To their surprise, it’s Lincoln that answers first.

“I am unsure. She was angry with Wanheda for all the death she caused, thinking nothing of the lives she saved. She was angry with me for pointing out the truth, and she was angry with herself for being weak. I distanced myself from her, but I think she could become a valuable warrior.”

————

TonDC. An outpost to stage war against the Maun-de. A few smaller villages surrounding the true camp in the middle of the forest. A location kept secret from the Maunon for nearly a hundred years.

Even now, they guard it fiercely. It houses the wounded, and the prisoners that Heda has rescued from the Maunon. Refugees that need safety, space to heal and get better. The clans are large, and spread far apart. Though the vast majority of the rescued are Trikru, a good amount are from other clans. Merchants, traders, warriors, politicians. Anyone who needed to cross Trikru had been in danger from the Maun-de and the Maunon.

And so, despite the fall of the Maun-de at Wanheda’s hands, the warriors fiercely guard TonDC. They protect their people and families. For now, this is still an outpost, but maybe in the future the fertile land can be settled once more. Life can flourish.

Sentries hide in trees, spread both within and along the edge of the forest around TonDC. The Maun-de might have fallen, but they all worry about Skaikru’s ignorance and tek. They worry about Azgeda’s posturing and strong warriors. Sentries know to stay hidden. To watch and report, and not to engage.

Thus, when the first glimpse of shining metal is seen in the distance, the sentry sits up. Alert. He brings out a metal contraption from Polis. The rod extends silently, and he brings it up to his eye. It magnifies his vision, allowing him to see further than men normally do. The sentry adjusts it slightly, until the image is clear and sharp.

A single warrior. Bearing the distinctive armour of Azgeda, though modified with a hood. Twin swords strapped along the warriors lower back. The armour is free of marks of rank, and the warrior is covered in a heavy cowl, obscuring their face markings. The warrior is followed by a wolf pup, but neither seem worried.

Scanning the area, he finds no other threats. Nothing out of the ordinary. It could be a trap. It could be someone defecting. It could be anything, but one thing is for sure.

_Heda needs to know._

He cannot leave his post, so he imitates a specific bird call. Moments later, a runner is climbing up the tree.

“Inform Heda. A lone Azgeda warrior approaches.”

————

Lexa goes quiet in the middle of their discussion about Octavia. Tilting her head, listening to sounds only she can hear. She holds up a hand to get quiet from the rest of them, before turning to Ryder.

“Let them in.”

He nods, but doesn’t move until a knock breaks the silence in the room. He steps forward, opening the door and checking for threats before speaking quietly with a guard.

“Heda, the sentries have sent a runner.”

A man steps through the door, a light sheen of sweat covering his body from his run through the forest. He’s in good shape, and has mostly regained his breath while waiting for Ryder to let him in.

“Heda, a sentry reports a lone Azgeda warrior approaching. No others were spotted. He did not think it an attack, but our orders were to alert on any sightings.”

Indra quickly speaks up to confirm the orders. “Sha Heda, with the recent Azgeda activity, I wanted us to be aware if any got near.”

Lexa nods, having suspected this to be the case. It’s best to be on the safe side, and Azgeda has been tricky in the past.

“Take a message to the other runners. Inform the sentries to be alert for any other groups trying to sneak in. I want to be informed if anyone is found sneaking around, regardless of apparent clan affiliation.”

The runner nods, and waits a beat more to see if there are any more orders before taking off. Lexa simply turns to Ryder, dismissing the runner.

“Ryder, inform the guards. I want a small group ready to act should our Azgeda friend try anything.”

He nods and steps outside, closing the door behind him. Lexa can hear him carrying orders, but tunes him out to pay better attention to the people around her. Indra seems annoyed at the intrusion, but not overly worried. Azgeda are well trained, but a single warrior is no match for her forces.

Monty and Raven seem intrigued, both to see more of the Azgeda, and to see Lexa’s people in action, though it’s clear they’re worried about the potential for violence.

“Do not worry. It is most likely a warrior concerned about a loved one, or bringing a message to Indra or I. Azgeda rarely travel alone otherwise. If you wish, you can join us in welcoming them to TonDC.”

Seeing relieved and intrigued nods, Lexa is happy to have defused the situation. Privately though, she worries. Something about the situation doesn’t sit well with her. It’s not that it’s rare for Azgeda to travel alone, it’s nearly unheard of. The only reason she can think of, other than ambushes and trickery, would be someone defecting.

————

A few hours later, the runner comes back. Significantly more exhausted, but with a proud grin on his face. Clearly he’s been carrying Heda’s orders out exactly as instructed.

“Heda, the warrior is approaching TonDC. They seem to know the way, so I suspect they have been here before. None have approached them, and they haven’t spotted any of the scouts in the trees. Typical Azgeda.”

“Thank you, though you would do well to never underestimate Azgeda. They notice more than they let on.”

The room quickly clears, falling into a natural formation behind Lexa as she leads the way. Ryder has taken up his position, watching her back, and Lincoln is doing the same for Monty and Raven.

Lexa leads them to the edge of the overgrown town, through the settling dusk. They end up near the open main gate. Only the normal few warriors stand guard, though Lexa knows more are hiding nearby. Can hear the slight scratch of scouts on branches above them, and the silent scuffle behind windows and doors lining the street.

Something’s wrong. She shouldn’t be on edge, but something is causing the hairs on Lexa’s back to rise. Something that only happens when she feels in danger. She can tell that both Indra and Lincoln are feeling the effects through their marks. Spines have stiffened, and both have at least one hand near a throwing knife.

She tries to settle herself as the Azgeda warrior walks through the gate, ignoring the guards at the sides. A wolf pup follows behind her, almost timidly. It glances at the guards who tense up under its scrutiny.

The warrior stops, and now Lexa knows something is wrong. Their face is covered entirely by the hood. They’re in the middle of the street, standing in front of Heda and a small group of people. Their back is turned to the guards at the gate, but the warrior seems completely at ease.

Movement draws Lexa’s eyes to the hands of the warrior. Hands that travel up. Grasping at the hood. Dragging it back slightly, and raising their head. Deep red hair spills out, and Lexa wonders just who this is.

The hairs on the back of her neck are practically vibrating. Shaking with an intensity Lexa has never felt before. She has been afraid of course, but never has she felt irrational fear. Like the person in front of her could undo her in moments.

The hood falls back, and Lexa freezes in place. Gasps echo all around her. Her eyes lock on purple eyes. Eyes growing more brightly than she has ever seen a spirit glow. She’s unaware of her mouth moving, but she hears the softly spoken word regardless.

**_“Wanheda.”_ **

Purple eyes pulse in response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay on this chapter! Work stress and other hobbies took over and then oops suddenly almost two weeks passed. So yeah. Sorry.
> 
> Hopefully this chapter answers some of the questions you had from the last chapter, and specifically the cliffhanger! 
> 
> Someone asked in a comment who we know have been marked by a spirit already and I think it’s a fair thing to mention, because keeping track of my hints can be frustrating. So here’s the list of marks that _**we know about**_ :  
> Heda’s Mark: Lincoln & Indra  
> Wanheda’s Mark: Monty
> 
> Someone else also called me out on my blatant un-tagged slowburn, and can I just say wow yeah oops. That was not my intention at all, but I’ve updated the tags to reflect it. My girls will meet up, and there will be chemistry. It’s just that my outlines didn’t really reflect word count or chapter sizes, so I hadn’t realised it (but we’re ~50k words into the story already, gosh).


	16. Ch 16 - Time Doesn't Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke gets to speak with Lexa, and has a small reunion with Monty.

**_“Wanheda.”_ **

Purple eyes pulse in response.

————

Clarke is in front of him. At least Monty thinks it’s Clarke. She looks different now. Has shorter, red, hair and wears fierce armour. Oh, and the purple eyes that actually shine, and seem to be attempting to stare holes in Lexa. It doesn’t look like Clarke, but Monty is certain that it’s her. Something within him is absolutely certain, screaming at him that this woman? That’s his friend. That’s Clarke.

**_“Heda.”_ **

The voice is different too. Slightly more melodious, with an odd duality. Almost but not quite the one he’s used to. But it’s Clarke, so Monty tries not to worry even as the people around him stiffen. They’re tense, almost like they’re afraid of her. But Monty’s seen just how many warriors are housed in TonDC. Why would they be afraid of a single person?

The moment the thought enters his mind, snippets of memories and stories told flash by. Clarke had burned nearly 300 warriors alive. Her story of ending Finn’s pain quickly. How he had seen her act when she rescued them at Mt. Weather. How she hadn’t hesitated to kill President Wallace, and then had irradiated the entire population of the Mountain.

Clarke starts walking again, taking slow and sure steps towards Monty and the group he’s with. The wolf trailing behind her finally catches Monty’s attention. It’s small and trails her footsteps closely. While the wolf appears a little uncomfortable, it doesn’t seem afraid. Rather, just intrigued. Head turning every so often, with intelligent eyes darting across everything it finds.

Monty’s attention is diverted as Clarke stops in front of Lexa’s stiff form. Clarke is silent for a few long moments, simply observing with her head held high. When finally she speaks, her bland words are spat with a contemptuous tone, daring anyone to stop her.

**“You made a mistake. Leaving my people to die. Leaving me to die. I hope you’re prepared for the consequences.”**

Surprising everyone present, Clarke doesn’t give Lexa any chance to reply. Before the words have left her lips, Clarke’s attention has already shifted. Monty finds himself pinned beneath her stare, glowing eyes firmly holding him in place.

As he watches, the glow dims and is replaced by a friendly and familiar teasing glint. She reaches out, and Monty steps into the offered embrace. For the first time in days he truly feels safe. Feels at peace, like coming home.

“It’s good to see you on your feet. I was so worried” She whispers, keeping the words private between them. “We need to talk and I know you must have a lot of questions, but not here, ok? It’s a long story, and I really do need to have words with Lexa first.”

Monty isn’t quite sure how to respond, but Clarke seems to understand and just holds him tighter. The movement pulls on his still-healing wound, and she pulls back slightly at his jerky response. Worried eyes scan him, attempting to find the injury through layers of clothes. He anticipates the question before she has a chance to ask.

“I don’t know how you knew I was injured, but I was shot when escaping Arkadia. Hit my side, and went all the way through. Lincoln and Raven helped me.”

**“They shot you?!”**

The incredulous words are shouted, shocking the wary residents of TonDC who has been watching their reunion silently. Clarke forces herself to take a breath. Smothers the blazing anger, forcing it to the back of her mind to be brought out later. She has other things to deal with. Turning her head, she gives Lincoln and Raven a small smile.

“Thank you for looking after him. I appreciate it.”

Lincoln nudges Raven out of her frozen stupor, but neither of them have time to respond before a small whine demands attention. Everyone turns to the small wolf by Clarke’s side. A wolf that keeps brushing up against her, glancing between Clarke and Monty.

“This is Madi. I found her in the forest, trapped and injured. Part of that long story I promised you. Madi, this is Monty, my brother in all but blood.”

Eyebrows rise as the wolf tilts her head slightly, before pulling at Monty’s pants gently. Trusting Clarke that the wolf is friendly, Monty bends down with his palm out and waits for Madi to sniff him over.

“She’s very shy, but it seems she likes you.”

Abruptly, Clarke shifts fluidly back into a stoic position. Seems the rest of the group has grown tired of waiting and watching their reunion. Lexa still stands where Clarke left her, but the solid stance has dropped into something more resigned. Indra is moving towards Clarke, her face shifting between expressions nearly too fast to notice.

“Wanheda, welcome to TonDC. Would you mind if we retire to a more private location?”

Relaxing into her stance, Clarke gives a respectful nod. It’s best to observe the traditions after all, at least for the village Chief.

“Of course, Chief Indra. Lead the way.”

Surprise briefly shows, but Indra is well-trained and quickly controls her emotions. Turning on the spot, she sets off down a main street of the overgrown town. Lexa falls into place behind her, unusually silent.

Clarke watches as Lincoln steers Monty and Raven after Indra. Watches fondly as Madi bounds up to walk beside Monty, wanting to get to know this person Clarke calls brother.

A brother that has been shot. The ball of anger within her flares a little, and she forcefully tamps it back down again. She wants to know the full story. Needs to understand exactly what’s going on back in Arkadia. But whoever shot her brother? If they were smart, they’d started running the moment the trigger had been pulled.

————

She hadn’t expected Lexa to be here. Hadn’t expected the sight of her face, covered with the delicate black warpaint. Clarke certainly hadn’t expected the rush of emotions that rose up at the sight. Relief and happiness at seeing Lexa well, followed by a crushing wave of righteous anger and disbelief at her actions.

Hearing Lexa call her Wanheda had felt like a punch to the gut. The fact that Heda’s voice had mixed with Lexa’s had been almost too much. There were so many unsaid things in that single word.

Clarke knew she hadn’t been ready. Lexa is a sore point, and one she had been avoiding thinking about. But Monty had been hurt, and she had to see him. Still feels an overwhelming need to inspect his injury, to make sure there’s nothing more. If that means she has to deal with Lexa, then she will. Her family comes first.

Always.

It’s that thought she uses to fortify herself. She needs to be strong for her family. For Madi who needs her more than Clarke had realised at first, and for Monty who has always stood by her.

She had recognised the look on his face. The one he always has when he knows something that worries him. Something he hasn’t told anyone about.

_ Wonder what has happened to bring that look back? Actually, where’s Jasper? Those two are usually inseparable. _

She follows behind the group in silence as they walk through TonDC. The real one, not just the outpost they had been shown to. It was a gorgeous place, overgrown and dim from the cover of the trees, no doubt something that will change drastically in the coming years. Elenor had been very clear about what TonDC really is.

A staging ground. Nothing but a theatre for war. First against the Maunon and their fortress. Then against the fledgling children who fell from the sky, and the metal monstrosity that followed them.

Fertile land. Sprawling forests and wildlife, despite the oppressive acid fog. An area that had been largely untouched for nearly a hundred years. The only villages were those supporting the forward scouts, those that supplied them.

Land that will now be reclaimed, used for farms and a place where people can build and thrive. If only the Skaikru hadn’t been here to threaten the newfound peace. It’s ironic, but Clarke had found herself agreeing with Elenor. Skaikru is a threat, another group of Maunon waiting to happen.

She’s dragged out of her thoughts at the sight of Monty stopped outside a large building, arguing with a guard who keeps gesturing at Madi. Everyone had kept a little distance between them after the tense meeting at the gate, and Clarke listens closely as she quickly moves in closer.

“Look she’s not dangerous, she’s friendly.”

“I don’t even know how that wolf came into TonDC, but I will not let it near Heda.”

Clarke’s instincts are starting to flare up, but she knows better than to make a scene here. Well, at least not a violent one. Striding up beside Monty, she bends gracefully. Clarke grasps Madi securely and then lifts her as if she is weightless.

The guard is stopped speechless at the display. Clarke levels a glare at him for good measure, before stepping through the doorway. She immediately scans the room for threats. Lexa stands awkwardly beside her guard in the middle of the room, with Indra close by. The room is mostly free of furniture, except for Heda’s empty throne against one wall. A small table and a few chairs are occupied by Lincoln and Raven against another wall.

Clarke can hear Monty come in behind her, and he quickly goes to join them. Clarke gently puts down Madi and whispers for her to join Monty.

————

The hairs on the back of Lexa’s neck haven’t calmed down yet. They still stand straight, twitching occasionally. Danger.

_ Klark.. What have I done? _

Those eyes, with that purple glow. She had seen it grow, from glowing to fiercely burning when she had uttered her threat. It had been a threat, Lexa is certain. Actions have consequences. And Lexa just happened to have angered the oldest spirit around.

Lexa looks up at the sound of the door closing, eyes following the wolf that had somehow made it into the room. It runs across to sit by Monty, who somehow seems to have formed a friendship with it already. If she didn’t know better..

“So,  _ Heda _ , care to explain why you broke your word and left us at Mt. Weather?”

Lexa’s title is spoken with a tone so glacial that she can actually feel the temperature of the room dropping. Indra is about to defend her, but Lexa holds out her hand for silence. She can fight her own battles. If she falls, she won’t take anyone with us. Sighing, Lexa attempts to explain what had happened.

“The man, Emerson, came out while we were fighting. As you know, he offered me a deal. It wasn’t a deal I could refuse. He knew where TonDC is, where we stand now, and not just the outpost. He described it so well that I had to believe it.” Flinty eyes stare back at her, but no response is given. “Many clans had sent healers to help with the fight, to help the prisoners we had intended to free. They were all stationed here. Safe, we thought. He threatened to fire a missile at TonDC. Hundreds more would have died, and the clans would have suffered for years with the loss of so many healers.”

Seeing Clarke’s angry frown change as she opens her mouth to answer, Lexa interrupts before she can start.

“I thought he was bluffing.” Clarke’s mouth closes. “But he showed me proof. Pictures of TonDC. Of all the residents, the streets and most importantly the healers. They were taken from afar, but they were accurate and taken the day of the attack. But even worse, he showed me pictures of Trikru’s biggest town, Drom. Thousands live there, and the farms surrounding Drom feed a large part of Trikru. I couldn’t risk it. I couldn’t risk so many people.

I didn’t agree to the deal as he presented it. I knew Skaikru said the Maunon needed someone at the TonDC outpost to send the missile, so they must have a scout at the real TonDC, but for them to have found Drom they must have had help. It’s too far from the Maun-de for their suits to reach.”

Trying her best to get her point across, Lexa attempts to relax her tense frame. Tries to ignore the instinct to grab a knife and defend herself physically.

“Klark, I only accepted their deal so we could regroup and stop their scout at TonDC. But I couldn’t explain my plan with Emerson there. I set up a blockade around the Maun-de. Killed their scout and treated our prisoners.”

Lexa observes worriedly as Clarke’s expression changes first from anger to confusion, and then from confusion back to anger. She’s met with a raised eyebrow and eyes that glow fiercely in the room lit only by torches.

“You’re a fool.” The tone hasn’t changed, still detached and glacial. “You gave them the only thing they wanted” Clarke must have seen Lexa’s confusion, because she scoffs. “Us. You gave the Maunon us. The key for them to walk on the surface, without their suits. You gave 700 people with advanced weaponry the chance to attack you whenever they wanted. However they wanted to.”

Clarke laughs. A mocking laugh, hollow, and with just a hint of two voices at once.

**“You’re a fool if you think they wouldn’t have slaughtered you all in your sleep”**

And that, that’s not something Lexa had considered. Not something Indra had considered either by the horrified look on her face. She can’t see their faces, but the silence from Lincoln, Monty and Raven speaks volumes on its own.

**“But, you got lucky didn’t you? You left me at the Maun-de.”** Clarke pauses for a moment. She doesn’t want to harm anyone here, knowing she will need them later, but words can cut as deep as swords. They just happen to bleed invisibly.  **“The last scrap of my innocence died that day. Torn apart, burnt to the ground. Just like the Maunon after I was done with them. Just like you will, should you** **_ever_ ** **cross me again.”**

Clarke tilts her head slightly, much like a large cat would study its prey. It feels like she’s looking through Lexa, observing something within her. Something old and ancient and strong. When Clarke speaks, Lexa is certain Clarke isn’t speaking to her anymore.

**“You know, for someone nearly a hundred years old, Heda, you’re still so very young.”**

Oh. That prickly feeling at the back of her neck is back. Lexa knew Wanheda is older than Heda. Occasionally she will get a snippet of memory of the first Commander who knew Wanheda. The records kept by the Nightbloods go back even further. Several hundreds of years, but nobody knows exactly how old she is. Or even what she is truly capable of.

“What the hell Clarke, Lexa isn’t that old?”

Seems like Raven has finally found her voice, which Lexa is thankful for. Anything to escape Wanheda’s piercing glare. A glare that softens noticeably as it shifts to her friend.

“No Raven, Lexa isn’t. But the spirit she carries was born with the death of the first Commander, just a few years after the nuclear war.”

“And you know this how? Sure you have glowing eyes now, but I’m not sure I really believe in any of this shit.” Lexa winces a little, expecting Wanheda to get angry at the disrespect shown. Looking at Raven, she finds her with arms crossed over her chest and a defiant stare thrown back at Clarke.

“Because I was there.”

And it’s not said with Wanheda’s voice, but with Clarke’s voice. Lexa’s head snaps back to Clarke whose eyes are still glowing. Still, even after all this time.

_ Oh no. _

“I don’t know how much you’ve been told, Raven. But, I’m not really human.. Never have been as a matter of fact.”

_ Oh skrish. (Oh shit) _

“But you were born on the Ark. You just turned 18, you can’t have been there.”

Raven’s voice is full of obvious doubt, but there’s something in her voice. Something almost pleading. Lexa remembers Raven’s profession. A tinkerer, someone born with a mind of logic, whose view of the world is built on strict rules. Science, they called it in the Old World.

“This body is 18, yes, but I don’t need a body to exist. I let myself fade away when the first Commander died. Drifted for a while, only interfering when needed.”

So there is more to the stories of the first Commander and Wanheda then. Something Lexa hadn’t believed in, and something only spoken of among the most well-read Nightbloods. Something Heda hasn’t shown her.

Clarke’s eyes flash, seeing something Lexa doesn’t. And then, before she has time to blink, Clarke is wielding a dagger. A dagger that Lexa herself had given to her.

“I may not be able to convince you of my age, which would be anyway, since I don’t know how old I actually am. But I can prove to you that I’m not quite human at least.”

With that, Clarke places the dagger to her left arm. Pressing the tip into the skin, and making a long and shallow cut. A whine is heard from the wolf, displeased with the harm Clarke is inflicting on herself.

Lexa can’t believe what she’s seeing. Clarke’s blood is a bright metallic silver, very different from the red she remembers seeing during their flight from the Pauna.

“What the fuck.”

Before their eyes the cut slowly closes up, leaving behind just a line of pink skin that even Lexa’s enhanced eyesight can barely see.

“Enough proof for you?”

“What the fuck. Clarke. What?”

Clarke looks over and Lexa can see her mouthing the word “later” as she addresses Monty instead.

“Monty? Are you ok?”

“Lincoln’s story about Wanheda sounded too specific to have been made up, but seeing you now I’m sure. It’ll probably take me a while to adjust, but as long as you’re still my sister then I don’t mind.”

A wet sound, almost like a mix between a laugh and a sob tears through Clarke. Instead of answering, she runs across the room to scoop Monty up into a hug. So fast that Lexa barely has time to blink.

_ Oh jok. (Oh fuck) _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A pretty dialogue heavy chapter. I hope it wasn’t too much :)   
> And yes, Clarke kinda sorta uses her new silver blood as an explanation for being Wanheda, even though she knows it's from that mysterious silver liquid Dr. Tsing injected her with. It's a visual change, and Clarke isn't above using a white lie to explain herself.
> 
> Hope you’re all staying safe!!


	17. Ch 17 - She Was My Starlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa learns of a horrible truth, while Indra and Clarke come to a mutual understanding, and Monty and Raven learn of Clarke’s past.
> 
> _  
> **Trigger warnings for this chapter: Allegations to past abuse, and mention of suicidal thoughts and self-hatred.**  
>  _

A wet sound, almost like a mix between a laugh and a sob tears through Clarke. Instead of answering, she runs across the room to scoop Monty up into a hug. So fast that Lexa barely has time to blink.

————

_ Oh. _

Clarke’s shaking. Minutely, but with how tightly she’s got him wrapped in her arms, it’s no wonder he can feel every tremor. Monty really should have expected this. Should have known after Mt. Weather, where she needed time. That look of resignation, that Clarke has accepted taking another weight on her shoulders. That she would blame herself, think herself unworthy.

He should have known it would only get worse, but somehow the thought hadn’t crossed his mind. Hadn’t registered in the adrenaline rush of being freed, and with the stress of everything at Arkadia.

Monty doesn’t know what to say; isn’t quite sure if talking is actually necessary. Monty just tightens his own arms around Clarke. Let her have this, even with their audience and their curious stares.

Madi presses up against his leg, looking almost worried and upset. Sure, the wolf is still pretty small and maybe it just doesn’t like being around all these people. But looking into those slightly glassy and expressive eyes, Monty wonders just how intelligent Madi is. Clarke had said she found the wolf in the forest, but why would it leave its home behind?

“Thank you. So much.”

Clarke loosens her grip on him, and starts to lean back a little. Eyes scan over him, again, trying to find any injuries he hadn’t told her about. She freezes in place, eyes locked on his arm.

“Well. That explains a few things..”

He looks down to find Clarke’s mark uncovered, the sleeve of his arm having moved back a little.

“What do you mean? I know it’s yours, Lincoln explained some of their culture to me, but it only appeared when we escaped from Arkadia.”

At that, Clarke gives him a sharp look before leaning back into the embrace.

“It’s complicated Monty. Yes it’s mine, but I can’t just go around claiming people; it just wouldn’t be right and it’s not how it works. I can plant the seed, which I must have done unconsciously back at Mt. Weather, but you have to accept it; you have to want the mark.”

“Not that you aren’t being cute, but can you wait with the family reunion. We were having a serious fucking discussion, and lets not forget that Clarke apparently isn’t human. Which, what the actual fuck?”

Raven’s words are barked, tinged with anger and frustration. Monty sighs, because Raven is right. The discussion had been serious, and it’s in no way done yet. But there are things he needs to tell Clarke, plans only Monty knows and that he doesn’t want everyone to know. Something must have flashed across his face, because just as he opens his mouth to whisper, Clarke stops him. Instead, her own near-silent whisper sounds by his ear.

“Later. Lexa can hear you, even if you whisper.”

His eyes snap to Lexa’s figure, still standing in the middle of the room. There should be no way for her to hear a whisper from that far away. But Monty notices the slightly widened eyes. How Lexa’s eyes make a small aborted movement the moment she feels eyes on her, as if caught in the act and wanting to look away.

_ Huh, guess we all have our secrets. _

As Clarke takes a step back, the fond and friendly mask melts back into a serious and indifferent mask. Her eyes harden, changing from the soft purple with an almost unnoticeable glow to something more flinty and fierce. Something that definitely sparkles and shines.

With a grace Monty first saw at Mt. Weather, Clarke strides to an empty chair. She seats herself, letting out a comfortable groan at the support. Madi gives her a pleading look and an inquisitive yip. As Clarke nods, the wolf jumps into her lap and makes itself comfortable.

_ I hope you know I’m holding you to that “later”. _

“You’re right, Raven. There’s a lot we need to talk about, and I want to know what the hell is going on in Arkadia. But first, “ Clarke’s eyes seek out Indra, who has taken a seat and looks mildly amused. “ Chief Indra, have any Skaikru been near the Maun-de?”

The amusement vanishes, turning into a small scowl. “Several times. They retrieved the message you left behind, and came back later with your friends to attempt to gain entry. They failed.”

Monty finds himself the recipient of Clarke’s stare this time. He knows he didn’t do anything wrong, but still can’t help the embarrassment and blush from growing. “We both knew they’d try, I’m just glad I don’t actually know how to get in. It took a while and several long days being ‘questioned’, but eventually the Council believed me.”

“Good. I don’t want them there. For more reasons than just the weapons the Mountain holds.” Her tone has turned solemn, and Monty has a bad feeling about this. Seeing Clarke turn an apologetic look at Lexa only enforces it. “Heda, they had a Nightblood.”

Silence.

Lexa’s face is stony. Unchanging. It gives nothing away. However, the way her body crumbles on the spot, the way she staggers to the nearest chair says more than words ever could. Lexa practically falls into the chair. Her expression never changes, but her eyes spark. The amber glow of a fire being lit. As swiftly as dry leaves flashing with flames, Lexa’s eyes blaze with a righteous fury.

**_“They.. My scouts reported black blood on you when you left. They had Kiun? One of Mine?”_ **

Monty doesn’t understand Lexa’s words, the harsh Trigedasleng sounding familiar but incomprehensible. The echoing quality and what sounds like a chorus of voices makes it no easier to understand. But Monty understands the hissing tone with which the words are spat. He recognizes rage when he sees it. Clarke must understand it though, as she nods and speaks in the same language.

_ “They did and they weren’t kind to him. There was nothing we could have done to help him, as he died before the attack.”  _ Clarke pauses. Looks at Lincoln and then Indra in turn. She glances at Raven, but does not look at Monty.  _ “Do they know about Nightbloods? Mine do not.” _ Clarke’s hands are tangled in Madi’s fur, smoothing it with gentle strokes.

Whatever Clarke said, it must have been important. Lexa takes a deep calming breath and visible forces herself to still. Her eyes retain the blaze, but she doesn’t look ready to attack them anymore. Lexa stares blankly for a moment, before shifting it over everyone in turn.

**“This discussion doesn’t leave this room. Whatever you hear, you never speak of it to anyone else, understood?”**

Everyone voices their agreement. Clarke sits casually, a contrast to the serious expression she wears. Her hands automatically make soothing gestures in Madi’s fur, keeping her calm despite the tension in the room. When she finally speaks up again, Clarke’s voice is gentle and soft.

“Nightbloods. A very secretive group of people, or at least they were in the past. Today, people at least know they exist, even if most are unaware of exactly what they can do.” Indra shoots a look at Lexa. “It’s not my place to share their secrets, but it’s commonly known they are stronger and faster than most.” Lexa gives a stilted nod. “What’s not commonly known, is that a higher percentage of Nightbloods than normal humans survived the nuclear apocalypse, or as it’s now known, the Great Flames.”

Apparently this truly hadn’t been commonly known, as even Lexa looks surprised. Monty has a feeling he knows where Clarke is going with this, and from Indra’s sour disposition, it seems she’s figured it out too.

“Wanheda, are you saying the Maunon knew this?”

At this, Clarke looks truly uncomfortable, cringing slightly.

“Not quite. As I said, they weren’t kind to their prisoners. They found out Kiun healed much faster than others, and they wanted that for themselves. They thought if they used his blood, they might be able to cure themselves and walk on the surface.”

This time, Lexa’s hiss is both vindictive and satisfied. “They died.”

“Nightblood is deadly to normal humans if it gets into their blood. But no, they didn’t die. Not at first. Unfortunately, the Maunon weren’t stupid. They tested it on their prisoners first, on animals they captured. Later, they tested it on those who rebelled against their leaders’ rule.”

Clarke ignores both the horror dawning on Monty and Raven’s faces, as well as Lexa’s expletives and continues with the explanation, needing to finish this.

“They were not successful, even tried to kill me by using the last of their supply of Nightblood. I destroyed their research, everything they had in the Maun-de on Nightbloods.” A pregnant pause fills the air. “But, the man who discovered Kiun survived. He had already been cured using the captured Skaikru.”

**“He escaped?”** Clarke nods dejectedly.  **“Who was it?”**

“Emerson.”

————

The dropship lies far behind her. She exchanged the tentative safety and shelter with a sliver of possibility. Octavia knows that leaving your shelter is a risk, but the Council knows where the dropship is. She couldn’t stay even if she wanted to. It won’t be long before someone notices she’s missing, and Bellamy won’t be able to stop them from looking for her.

She won’t go back. She can’t.

Can’t risk it.

A full-body shiver forces its way through her, making her miss her step. She braces against a tree to regain her breath.

_ How? How did he even survive? _

_ How did he find us? _

Bellamy had warned her.

————

The swish of the thin metal door as it opens catches Octavia’s attention, but she continues her exercises. Lincoln might have thought her weak, but just like always, she’ll find a way to prove herself. Find a way to make them all see that she is strong.

She looks over to find Bellamy stepping inside, worry etched on his face. The moment he clears the door, it slides closed behind him. Touching the console on the side, he locks it in place.

“Octavia.” Bellamy immediately begins pacing the small enclosed space. He speaks quickly, words flowing and colliding with each other with a panic Octavia hasn’t heard for a long time. “You need to leave! It’s not safe, we should pack. I’ll call in all the favors I can! Octavia, please! We need to move.”

Untangling herself from the intricate pose Indra had taught her, Octavia steps closer to Bellamy. Words have never helped when he’s like this, so he places a hand on his shoulder and shakes him gently. Not to clear the panic, nothing can do that, but to make sure he knows she’s there. That she’s listening.

————

Having regained her breath, Octavia starts walking again. She follows the unseen path towards TonDC, hoping against hope that Indra will be willing to listen. To take her in.

_ I won’t go back. I can’t. _

If not, Octavia will leave. Would rather take her chances on her own rather than stay in Arkadia. It will be a struggle, yes, but a struggle is better than certain death.

————

It takes a while for Bellamy to calm down; for his breathing to settle back into a less frantic rhythm. Octavia has guided him to sit against the wall, waiting for him to come out of it. She wonders what could have her brother act like this.

Hands come up to grasp at her. To check that she’s safe; that Octavia is here and not wherever Bellamy’s imagination has made up. His hands cradle her face, guiding it to meet his gaze. A gaze full of unshed tears and a terror so deep it tears at Octavia’s soul.

“He’s alive.”

————

Two small words.

Words that carry enough power to shatter Octavia’s world and set it on a new axis. To set her dreams aflame, burning everything down to a single desire. To survive.

Words that haunt her as she sets one foot in front of the other. Carrying herself through the forest with barely any awareness of her surroundings.

She can’t go through it again. Wishes that he had killed her when he had the chance. Has spent too many nights weeping in her cell, agonized whispers in the back of her mind telling her it would be better if she hadn’t been spared.

But Abby had argued for her life to be spared. “She’s young,” she’d said. “It’s against the law,” she’d argued. It hadn’t been said, but Octavia is smart enough to read between the lines.

“We need her,” Abby had implied.

————

“Octavia, he’s back.”

The terror in his eyes drains away for determination to take its place. It’s not gone though. The terror has jumped between them. It’s rushing through her veins, weighing her down.

_ He’s alive. He’s back. _

She can’t even fathom how. How he managed to survive, to get to Earth. But somehow, somehow Jaha had managed. Had a good thing for the first time in his life, sacrificing himself for the Ark.

Only to survive like the roach he is.

The terror turns to pain and panic. Memories flood Octavia. Memories that she never wants to relieve. Never wants to admit exists.

They should have stayed buried, dead with the man who caused them.

They had needed her, alright. Had needed all of them. All of the delinquents, kept in the Skybox. Fed scraps, if anything at all, for months on end.

Lab rats. A scientific study on the survivability of re-entry into Earth’s atmosphere. Another study on the effects of radiation on a genetically modified population.

Octavia hadn’t realised it then. Too full of pain and regret, wanting nothing more than for it to just end. She hadn’t paid enough attention. And when they had landed?

His son had been there, former best-friend of Clarke Griffin. The two had made sense. Anger blinds and blurs, but fear gives you tunnel vision. She couldn’t trust them. Wouldn’t trust them.

Wells Jaha died. She didn’t shed a tear.

Clarke though, her mother's daughter. All Octavia could see was similarities. The strength of character, the wisdom to see them succeed. The cutthroat approach to threats, tempered by a willingness to compromise when necessary.

Clarke had become Abby in Octavia’s mind. The woman who condemned her to hell, who denied her a swift death. Someone she couldn’t, wouldn’t, trust.

————

Bellamy had helped her pack her few meagre belongings, and then disappeared away from his rooms into the maze of the Ark. Out to call in favors owed. He’d been back quickly with a spare guards uniform in his arms. He’d handed her the uniform and then given her a pistol to holster at her waist when she’d put it on.

Whoever had owed him a favor had managed to get the gate open. Nobody looked twice at two guards pretending to do an inspection of the outer wall. She hopes nobody had looked twice when only one guard returned.

It feels wrong to have the weight of a gun at the side. Octavia has trained with a sword, grown used to the weight. Adjusted her strides to match, and has even come to feel a sense of safety with her chosen weapon.

Bellamy had been right though, she’d been the only one left in Arkadia with a sword. Carrying one while disguised as a guard would have stood out as a sore thumb. She misses it.

Octavia stumbles to a halt as TonDC becomes visible in the distance. What’s left of it. The few people left aren’t rebuilding, instead they’re tearing down the few still-standing houses and structures.

She starts moving again, hoping the workers can tell her where Indra is. She doesn’t make it more than a few steps before there’s a rustling of leaves, followed by a warrior dropping out of the tree beside her.

_ “Come. Heda and Chief Indra have been expecting you.” _

_ ———— _

Clarke had been as gentle as possible, knowing Lexa would blame herself. But it’s clear the news of just who captured the Nightblood had still shaken Lexa deeply. That she had agreed to a deal with the man who had caught, and probably tortured, one of her own. Indra had seen it as well, swiftly calling an end to the meeting. Lincoln had guided Lexa out, her personal guard following behind her protectively.

Still seated by the table in the meeting room, Indra looks around at the few reasonable Skaikru she had met. Are they even Skaikru anymore? Monty and Raven had sought Sanctuary, seeking refuge from their own leaders.

And Wanheda, well, actually Monty and Raven aren’t Skaikru. They can’t be. Wanheda has claimed them. She might not have named her people, but she would be well within her rights to start a clan. She has land, even if it is the Maun-de, and as Wanheda nobody would deny her.

“I apologize, Wanheda.” Startled purple eyes look at her, still dimly glowing. “For our actions at the Maun-de. You were correct in saying we were foolish. I might not have been able to go against Heda’s orders, but I should still have known.” Indra’s voice takes on a self-deprecating tone. “I am a general. I know war, and still I did not see the trap.”

“Chief Indra, neither Lexa nor Heda realised it. Despite their combined age and experience, they did not realise the threat of the Maunon and their technology. It’s natural to want to protect your people, something I understand intimately. I’m angry about her actions, not her intent.”

Indra considers this for a moment. Wanheda has always been rumoured to be fiercely protective. Willing to do anything to protect those she loves. Looking into the face of Clarke Griffin, Indra no longer sees the soft Skai girl. Where before she was small and without muscles, sitting in front of her now is a strong woman. Strong and sinuous muscles move fluidly with every movement, belying the strength within her. Perhaps Wanheda is correct, perhaps Indra couldn’t have known. Still, this is something to improve.

“While you may be correct, I still did not know enough. I will seek out knowledge. This will not happen again, I promise you.”

If the soft smile she receives feels a lot like approval and forgiveness, Indra doesn’t mention it. Instead, she stands and heads for the door. “I will send for food, and someone will ready rooms for you. Montee and Reivon are staying with Nyko, who is tending to their injuries.” With that, Indra leaves the friends in peace.

————

“OK, I know you both have questions. Shoot”

Clarke leans back in the surprisingly comfortable wooden chair. Happy that the meeting had gone as well as it did. Anger still burns within her at Lexa’s actions, but it’s tempered by the picture of absolute loss and devastation Lexa had been as she left.

Monty and Raven are having a silent discussion with each other, and Clarke can’t help wonder what happened for it to develop. Which brings her question back up, just where is Jasper? Monty seems to win the argument, as he turns to Clarke.

“Can I speak without anyone overhearing us?”

That’s not what Clarke expected them to lead with, but she had had a feeling earlier that Monty wanted them to be alone for something. She strains her senses, trying to find if there are anyone close by. Hearing nothing, she instead smirks and shoots a look at Madi.

“Nobody I don’t trust.”

“Riight..”

Monty’s fond exasperation is like a balm to Clarke. The fact that he still trusts her despite everything speaks volumes. That he accepted her mark. She’ll treasure it forever.

“After the Mountain, I started noticing things. How the Council was treating us, the delinquents, and how they treated everyone else. It was night and day, Clarke. So Jasper and I, we made some plans.”

He shoots an apologetic look to Raven before continuing.

“Raven doesn’t know all of them, far from it. The Council is trying to kill us; wants us out of the way. They know I’m close with you, so Jasper and I had to distance ourselves a little. We stayed friends, but only met up occasionally. Jasper started working on helping those that survived the Mountain.

Your mother is going crazy. She wants the Mountain, she nearly killed us herself when we couldn’t get access for the guards. We started listening in on her meetings, but it was getting too dangerous for us to stay. Jasper was supposed to join us, but we needed more painkillers for Raven’s leg so he tried to get some that night. He never showed up, and we had to leave or risk getting caught. We had backup plans for if this should happen, so hopefully he’ll be fine.”

At this Raven’s attention is focused solely on Monty. “And you didn’t tell me this? Why?”

“Raven, they had you drugged. Dependent. We trust you, but not telling you kept you safe. What if they had taken your painkillers away? Tried to get you to talk that way?”

The sullen look on Raven’s face is answer enough. She’d already broken once, trying to avoid the painkillers Abby had given her.

“Painkillers?”

“Those fuckers at the mountain drilled into my leg. It’s healed now, but combined with the bullet that’s still in my back and pressing against nerves, I’m in constant pain. Abby refused to remove it, saying the risk was too great.” The sneer on Raven’s face is a stark contrast to the tears that flow freely.

“I was too valuable. An object the Council couldn’t afford to lose. They gave me pills to suppress the pain. I refused, trying to go without. I couldn’t, Clarke. For two whole days I tried, but I couldn’t. It hurts so much without them. I ran out just a few days after the escape, but Nyko makes me something to drink. It doesn’t work as well, but it’s better than nothing.”

Raven scowls at herself, and Clarke doesn’t say anything. She knows how prideful Raven is and just how badly she takes pity. Instead, Clarke reaches over the table and squeezes her hand gently.

“Now stop deflecting Griffin. Just what the hell happened to you?!”

Finally, they ask what Clarke knows they’ve been burning to know. But before she can answer, Monty cuts in with a smart remark.

“And don’t think I didn’t notice your blood looks nearly exactly to what Dr. Tsing injected you with.”

Of course Monty would notice. Of course he would.

“Well, it’s a long story. I am Clarke Griffin, born to Abigail Griffin and Jake Griffin. I’m just over 18 years old.” She glances between her friends. “I am also Wanheda. Not born. Not quite sure how and when I began my existence. I was the first ‘living’ being on Earth, even if I didn’t have a body back then.”

Monty seems to be supportive, listening with a confused tilt to his head. Raven seems shocked, but willing to give her a chance to explain. Doesn’t mean she’ll believe it, but Clarke appreciates being given the chance.

“People today call my kind spirits. As I said, we don’t need a body and I didn’t have one for a long long time. Spirits can get a body in two ways. Either be born into one by human parents, or by taking a host. I’ve done both, but I prefer having my own body. Sharing your head and thoughts with someone can be a little disorienting, plus I prefer being in charge.

For some reason, I’m always born as a girl. With a similar build and features. Even my name has mostly stayed the same, given to me by parents through the years. One way to spot a spirit is by their eyes. They glow, depending on emotions. Mine will go from dimly sparking, to full on shining like a lamp. For spirits with a host, it only happens when the spirit is active, like with Lexa earlier.”

“And what Monty said about your blood? Plus, your eyes used to be blue.”

“This time has been a little different. I had a body when the nuclear apocalypse happened and even with my natural healing, I still got very sick. A woman found me, nursing me through my illness. She was my light in the darkness. A star in a lost world that I wept for. We fell in love, and I helped her set up a new society. She became known as the First Commander, a Nightblood like all commanders that followed her. The world was different then. Broken beyond belief. Shards of the old world would cut wounds wherever you stepped, but it was beautiful as well. A fresh start, but not a clean one. Like painting with vivid colours on an ashen grey canvas.”

Clarke lets the tears flow. She’s never spoken this aloud to anyone, but these are her friends. She trusts them, a feeling that throbs within her. A seed she had called it. Trust, something that can grow and blossom.

“Faye was murdered. A group thought she had gone mad with power, that she wanted to rule the world with an iron fist. They didn’t know she had dreams of building a small cottage. That she never wanted the power that comes with ruling part of the world. She wanted to grow old and happy  **and she was torn from me.** ”

They look horrified, but Clarke doesn’t want to stop. She wants to continue, get the weight off her shoulders. Not noticing how her eyes are pulsing in tune with her emotions, or how her voice echoes with power.

**“They took my love from me. I lashed out in pain and when the haze lifted, they were all dead.”** Clarke closes her eyes and chokes back a sob at the memories. “I.. There’s a reason they call me the Commander of Death. It’s not something I can always live with, and back then I hated myself so much that I left my body behind.

For years, I floated and didn’t interact with the world. I only took hosts when necessary, where I would be able to save more lives than not, and I never lingered. I became a myth, and still I hated myself. I couldn’t live with the pain, so I split myself in two.”

She gives them a moment to absorb her story. From Monty’s horrified gasp, Clarke thinks he’s figured it out. Raven still looks shocked. Hasn’t said anything yet, and it doesn’t look like she’s ready yet either.

“I was born again as Clarke Griffin. One small piece of a much larger whole. Human, nearly anyways, with no knowledge or memory of my past. Until we landed on Earth, I had no idea. And when we did, I thought they were dreams. Slowly, but surely, my actions poked holes in the wall I had built. Lexa taking Emerson’s deal was like setting off a bomb at the foundation. The other part of me took control that day, helping us bring down the Mountain.

And then, Dr. Tsing injected me with that silver substance. Nightblood, which would have killed me if I was actually human, but mixed with nanobots. It took a while, and I knew I needed space. I needed time to heal the wounds in my mind. During that time, the nanobots activated. Among other things, my blood turned into the same silver colour.”

She shoots a small apologetic smile at Raven.

“So, a small white lie earlier. I’m not human, but the silver blood is new, even for me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long chapter with some fairly dark themes. Lexa learns that her choice at the Mountain was even more personal and horrible than she might have thought. Don’t be too mad at her, it could have been any one of Cage’s goons that presented her with the deal.


	18. Ch 18 - Under Your Skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Octavia finally makes it to TonDC, simply happy to be away from Arkadia. She hears of someone called Wanheda, but pushes it aside in her quest to meet with Indra. 
> 
> _**Trigger warnings for this chapter: Allegations to past rape and mention of suicidal thoughts** _

_ “Come. Heda and Chief Indra have been expecting you.” _

_ ———— _

Octavia stops in her tracks as the warrior drops down, desperately reaching for a sword that she no longer has. Her hands find only the clammy metal of the pistol Bellamy had given her. She jerks away, refusing to even touch it. Emotions rage within her, shouting at her. Screaming. She’s weak, just a helpless girl.

_ No! I’m not weak. I’m not. _

The warrior stays silent, observing Octavia’s silent struggle to regain her composure. When Octavia had reached for her gun, the warrior hadn’t made a move to stop her. Hadn’t even moved to protect herself.

Stoic.

The thought reminds Octavia why she decided to go to TonDC. Octavia doesn’t think she’s weak, but is well aware that she’s not strong enough. Not to survive in this world. With a shudder, Octavia admits to herself that she’s not strong enough to survive  _ Jaha _ .

Not again.

There’s too many thoughts swirling around her head. If she were to reply, chances are Octavia would say something she’d regret. Words that couldn’t be taken back. Secrets, once spilled, act like water. They drip and make waves. Erode defenses, digging furrows into the world. Enough secrets would cause a flood.

Octavia would drown.

She starts walking, casting a glance at the warrior as she passes. The warrior, thankfully, doesn’t strike up conversation as she falls into step beside Octavia. Doesn’t say anything as she gestures towards the ruins of TonDC. They walk through charred remains of the outpost. Past the workers attempting to recover re-usable parts and materials.

Workers that are talking excitedly among each other about someone called Wanheda. Apparently they’ve been gone for a long time, but had made quite an entrance earlier that day. It’s all everyone seems to be talking about, and Octavia quickly decides to tune them out. Whoever Wanheda is, it’s probably just some local that finally came home.

_ Maybe a survivor from the Mountain? But that wouldn’t make sense, it’s been months.. Oh well, doesn’t matter. _

Octavia constantly looks around, trying to find Indra or Lexa, but she can’t find them. They’re nearing the edge of TonDC and her warrior escort continues past, and deeper into the forest.

_ “Where are we going?” _

The Trigesdasleng feels awkward to her now. She understands it well, but after Lincoln had left her alone Octavia hasn’t practiced speaking it.

_ “TonDC.” _

_ But. The missile. We just went through TonDC.. _

_ “What do you mean?”  _ Octavia’s voice has taken on a biting quality, demanding answers.

The warrior turns around, pinning Octavia with an amused look and a smug smirk.  _ “Would you show your enemies to your home?”  _ Observant eyes take in the anger Octavia knows she’s broadcasting, and the confusion in her expression.  _ “What you called TonDC was an outpost. A decoy for the Maunon, and then for the Skaikru when you attacked a village.” _

The warrior turns silent again and turns her focus back to the forest trail. Octavia wants to demand more answers. Wants to shout and scream, feeling like Indra had betrayed her by not telling her the truth. However, as the walls around TonDC become visible through the thick foliage, Octavia loses her train of thought.

They’re stopped by the gate, a guard warily eying Octavia’s uniform and the pistol holstered at her hip. She hands it over without complaint, happy to no longer be weighed down by its deadly weight. Her mind goes blissfully silent as she’s led down bustling streets, quietly taking in the town around her. The differences between the outpost and this hidden town are staggering. It feels lived in, not just a run-down facade.

A building looms in front of them, and Octavia attempts to steel herself before they enter. They step inside, only to come face to face with two guards blocking access to the only door.

“This is Okteivia kom Skaikru. Chief Indra ordered she be brought to her.”

The guards share a glance. Octavia hasn’t ever seen a Grounder with this expression before. It’s odd, vaguely reminding her of both fear and respect. Maybe Lexa is angry about something and took it out on her warriors. Octavia wouldn’t be surprised.

“Heda and Chief Indra have left for the Chief’s house. Wanheda is inside with her companions.”

Her escort nods before thanking the guards, and quickly leading Octavia out of the building with a speed that surprises her.

_ Huh. So Wanheda must be more important than just a local. _

The house she’s brought to is small and functional, with only the guards posted outside indicating its importance. This time, they’re let through without any issues and Octavia steps into a hallway. Muted conversation can be heard through a closed door.

_ “- is not your fault. They could have sent any-” _

The conversation stops abruptly. Octavia’s companion steps forward to knock on the door, but it is opened before she gets the chance. A tall and muscled warrior stands in the now open doorway, reminding Octavia of the bodyguard Clarke used to have assigned to her. He takes one look at them before beckoning them inside.

Looking around, she finds herself inside a relatively small room decorated with warm colours and soft furs. Bookshelves line one wall, with real books inside. A large desk sits unoccupied at another wall, leaving space for a table arrangement in the corner. Indra looks exhausted when Octavia notices her, but the expression is swiftly replaced by the familiar mask of someone who needs to be in charge.

“I believe Wanheda should be here for this.” Indra speaks up, though not aimed at anyone. She ignores Octavia in favour of her escort. “Thank you for bringing Okteivia. Please ask Wanheda if she has time to speak with us.”

The warrior agrees immediately, leaving Octavia behind with Indra. It’s only then she notices Lexa sitting in another chair, face decorated with slightly smudged warpaint.

————

Clarke stops speaking mid-sentence, eyes darting to the door on the other side of the room. Raven can’t hear anything, but honestly she’s not surprised. Clarke is  _ different _ . Not like Raven had expected, and not mourning the people she’s killed like Monty thought she would be. At least, she doesn’t seem to be mourning.

Clarke is harder now. Slimmer, but more muscular. She feels dangerous and sharp, like a storm just barely keeping itself from spreading destruction. But most of all, she feels protective. Clarke still feels like Raven remembers her, it’s just as if every trait has been magnified. Raven’s not sure how to feel about it. Clarke could be scary before, but now she can be downright terrifying. The armour, swords, and the blood-red hair only enhances it.

“Octavia’s here.”

And yeah, that’s a little creepy. Just how good is her hearing? Thankfully Monty decides to speak up, because Raven is still trying to figure out this new Clarke. Raven’s just trying not to think too hard about the wolf sleeping peacefully in Clarke’s lap.

“Huh. They’ve left again, she’s here to see Indra and Lexa..”

“Yeah, she was spotted leaving the Dropship in our direction yesterday. We were talking about it before you arrived. Lincoln said he isn’t sure we can trust her.. He broke up with her, but hasn’t told us why.”

The frown Clarke wears is familiar at least, though it looks slightly out of place now.

“Clarke.. Octavia is, uh, very angry with you. After Mt. Weather, she was agreeing with Abby. That you should be imprisoned for killing as many as you have, and she wasn’t just talking about the Mountain Men. She was too angry to speak with us for days, and after the breakup we didn’t really see her much.”

“I didn’t expect everyone to agree with what I did, Monty. It was murder, and I know that, but I wanted you all safe. I honestly didn’t care at the time, but I wish we could have found a way to spare the kids.”

Clarke tilts her head to the side, listening to something only she can hear. Before she can say anything, there’s a knock on the door. It opens a moment later, a warrior steps inside and looks at Clarke.

“Wanheda, Chief Indra requested your presence while she speaks with Okteivia kom Skaikru.”

Clarke gives the warrior a brief nod before bending looking down at the sleeping wolf in her lap. She gently nudges it awake, before speaking quietly to it.  _ “Come on Madi, we need to move to another room.”  _ There’s a quiet whine that Raven would swear sounds annoyed.  _ “You can continue sleeping in a moment.” _

Raven realises, again, that she really needs to learn Trigedasleng. She barely managed to make out more than a few words, and frankly she’s insulted that she hasn’t managed to learn it yet.

“Looks like I need to go. We can continue later, and I’m sure you both need some time to digest what I’ve said already.” Clarke turns from them to the warrior. She stands in a single movement, scooping Madi from her lap into her arms. “Lead the way.” The warrior rapidly shifts wide eyes between Clarke and the wolf in the arms, eventually ending on Clarke’s face. She turns and gestures for Clarke to follow. The door closes behind them, and the small noise sounds deafening in the silence.

“So. Griffin.. “ Raven is hesitant, angry with herself for being so unsure. “She’s changed.” Yeah, that’s not what she wanted to say, but it sums it up well enough. Monty seems to understand, though, as he favours her with a small smile.

“It’s OK, Raven. It’s a lot to deal with, and I’m having trouble believing it as well. I trust her, but it’s still a lot, you know?”

“Yeah that. But it’s freaking hard to argue with those glowing eyes, especially since Lexa does that too. Fuck. I’ll be fine, it’s just a lot to take in. I trust that  _ she _ believes it, and she did save us from the Mountain Men.” Raven pauses before taking on a dejected somber tone. “But Monty, Griffin killed Finn. Logically I know she did it to spare him, but she still killed him. I just…”

An arm hesitantly snakes around her shoulders, tugging her close. Raven sighs, but sidles in closer.

“And now she has a wolf as a pet. What the actual fuck. How did she even find one?! Fucking Griffin.”

Monty shakes with silent laughter, squeezing her shoulder gently.

————

Octavia has never seen Lexa like this, in a casual setting. She’s surprised at how human it makes Lexa look. How vulnerable. It feels wrong, as if she’s intruding on a private moment. Wearing a guard uniform from Arkadia only reinforces the feeling. It sets her apart, makes her look like an outsider. She hates it, hates the feeling of their clothes on her skin. She wants it off, but hasn't been able to bring much with her.

She wants them off her. Wants the memories gone. She needs to get away, get away from Arkadia. If Jaha’s back, then she won’t be safe. She can’t go back. She won’t. She’d rather die.

“Okteivia.”

The words are loud, coming from right beside her. Octavia snaps her head to the side, but her vision is blurry and sounds are indistinct.

“Okteivia, breathe. Slowly.”

Breathing. That’s important, so she should probably do that. But it’s so hard to focus. Memories are at the front of her mind, and the heavy uniform keeps them trapped within her skin. The voice is insistent though, telling her, guiding her through the motions. Slowly, one breath at a time, Octavia manages to slow her racing heartbeat. She’s gasping for breath by the end, and her cheeks are stained by tears. She finds herself sitting on the floor, leaning against a wall.

She continues breathing, slowly and as steadily as she can. She can feel herself calming down. But it’s only moving from the deep end of panic to the shallower waters. She’s still in it, still moments away from drowning. Slowly breathing. In. Out.

Finally, the shaking subsides. Octavia risks a glance up, only to find her view blocked by Indra’s form. She’s too exhausted to make sense of the expression on her face, too tired to worry about it. She had made it, away from Arkadia.

“What happened, Okteivia?”

The voice is softer than she remembers. Warmer. Worried?

There’s a knock at the door, but Octavia doesn’t care. The floor is too comfortable to get up, and she’s just been given a bit more time. To figure out what happened, because the panic took her by surprise. It’s never far away, but she usually has it under control. Anger helps, keeps her grounded.

A quick discussion is heard from the door, before an armed figure gracefully steps into the room, past her and Indra. Back turned to Octavia, the person bends over a chair to place something in it. Something is said, but she can’t make out what before the person turns around. The woman seems familiar, something tugging at Octavia’s chaotic mind. The woman gasps loudly in shock.

“Octavia?!”

And just like that, the panic surges within her again. Claws at her, dragging Octavia back under. Her breathing grows ragged, but she tries to control it. Struggling desperately for control of her own mind, she doesn’t notice her mouth moving. It doesn’t register that she’s shouting, tears flowing over and down her face. She begs incoherently. Words blend together, until at last, Octavia hears her own voice.

“P-please d-don’t take me b-back. H-he’ll kill me. A-after. Abby p-please.”

Gentle hands grasp hers, squeezing softly. Indra’s voice is telling her to breathe again, to take slow breaths. It feels like years, and Octavia feels wrung from the inside out. She looks up to find both Indra and Clarke looking at her with worry etched on their faces. Panic spikes at seeing Clarke, but she looks different now. The red hair, and the armour is enough to set her apart. It isn’t Abby.

Her hands are squeezed gently again, and Octavia finds that it’s Clarke that had reached out. There’s an understanding glint in Clarke’s eyes, and wow Octavia must be out of it, because Clarke’s eyes are purple. And they glow.

“You called me Abby. If it’ll be easier for you, do you want me to leave?”

No. Octavia doesn’t want to be weak. Not again, not ever. If that means facing Clarke, then she needs to do it. Lincoln had been right. She  _ had _ been weak, but no more.

“N-no. It’s OK. I need to do this, but I only want to do it once.”

She’s met with understanding nods from both of them. Indra helps Octavia to her feet, while Clarke turns back to the chairs. Once again bending down to pick something up before taking a seat. Which is when Octavia notices the wolf pup in Clarke’s lap.

Indra leads her to an empty chair, before grabbing a cup and filling it from a waterskin on the wall. She shoves the cup into Octavia’s still-trembling hands and orders her to drink. Water. Soothing, cooling water. Looking around the room again, Octavia’s eyes land on Lexa and wide. Before she can say anything, Lexa cuts her off with a raised hand.

“Do not apologize, you look as if you’ve run from a Pauna. Speak when you’re ready.”

An attempt at a smile is Octavia’s response. She sips at the water, eyes traveling to the wolf in Clarke’s lap again. It looks to be sleeping, laying with its head nestled tightly against Clarke’s side.

They sit in silence for a moment, and Octavia feels the anger within her bubbling at the sight of Clarke. It feels misplaced, somehow, but it helps her regain control. Helps her rip off the band-aid.

“Jaha survived.” She has their attention. “Somehow he made it to the ground. He came to Arkadia and Bellamy spotted him speaking with your mother, Clarke.” Octavia avoids Clarke’s eyes, instead focusing on Indra. The familiar face helps keep her on track. “He was the Chancellor when we were in space. He murdered my mother when they discovered she had a second child. Me.” She pauses for a moment to catch her breath, feeling her heartbeat rise again. “I was imprisoned for the crime of being a second child, but he wanted to kill me as well. Abby, Clarke’s mother, ‘saved’ me by saying they needed me. Needed us. That’s why we were the ones to be sent to the ground. They needed disposable bodies to test with.”

Octavia shudders, and notices a hard expression on Clarke. Did she know?

“But Jaha, he wasn’t.. Wasn’t satisfied. Having a second child was illegal, and he thought I got off lightly. He.. Regularly, personally, made sure that I knew just how ‘lucky’ I was to have been spared. I would rather have died, but I made the mistake of saying that to Abby one time as she patched me up. She then made sure I wasn’t able to. Hurt myself, that is, or even defend myself. Jaha approved.” A deep breath, slower this time. “He’s back, and I would rather die than let him get close to me again, but I also don’t want to die.” Octavia gestures at her dirty guards’ uniform, disgust plain on her face. “Bellamy helped me out, but I had to leave everything behind.”

Leaning forward, Octavia braces herself. They don’t trust her; have no reason to. She only trusts Indra, who has won her respect, but Clarke and Lexa? No. Not after the Mountain. So it is Indra that Octavia focuses on. It is Indra that she poses her question to, and it is into Indra’s hands she places her life.

“I will do anything you ask of me, so long as I never have to see Jaha or Arkadia again. I will do  _ anything _ to avoid that man getting his hands on me again.”

It is not Indra that answers. Instead, a flash of purple catches Octavia’s attention. Automatically, her attention turns to Clarke whose eyes glow brightly.

**“He** **_touched_ ** **you? And my mother allowed it?”**

_ That isn’t Clarke. _

The thought surprisingly helps her. Helps cut through the anger she feels at Clarke, though she knows most belongs to Abby. She feels detached, slightly cold inside and everything feels just a touch faster than Octavia expects. She speaks, but it doesn’t feel like herself answering. Her tone comes out cold and flat.

“He said I had to pay for his ‘hospitality’, that he would teach me what a second child deserves. Abby put something in my arm, told me it would prevent any more ‘accidental’ children.”

A lone tear trails down her cheek, and Octavia isn’t sure where it comes from. She accepted it long ago.

**“She’s dead. I will slit her throat myself.”**

Clarke is practically vibrating with anger, and Octavia for once has something in common with her. The wolf in Clarke’s lap makes a noise in discomfort, but she doesn’t notice. It’s not until Lexa’s slender hand lands on Clarke’s arm that she snaps out of it.

“I don’t think Okteivia was done.”

And no, she wasn’t, but she did need the small pause to collect herself again. Something Octavia fears she’ll need to do a lot. She wants to hit something, to work her grief out in training. She wants to scream and to cry, but she’s trained herself not to. She attempts to fit her mask of anger back on, but it feels cracked and broken.

“Bellamy said he’s alive. But, before I managed to make my escape, Bellamy said Jaha had disappeared again. He had to call in a favour with a friend to give me a pistol, because the Council had given most of the spare weapons to Jaha before he left.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a very difficult chapter to write, with Octavia’s thoughts and actions being especially harrowing. Hopefully I was able to convey just how awful her time on the Ark was without being too graphic.
> 
> Really enjoyed writing Monty and Raven’s interactions though, and it was a nice bright point in an otherwise dark chapter. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think so far, thank you! :)


	19. Ch 19 - Things We Do For Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Octavia has a moment to realise that Clarke is in the room, and snaps at her. Clarke fights fire with fire, and Lexa has to step in to avoid a physical conflict. Indra gets to spend some quality time with her Second, while Monty admires Raven’s craftsmanship.

“Bellamy said he’s alive. But, before I managed to make my escape, Bellamy said Jaha had disappeared again. He had to call in a favour with a friend to give me a pistol, because the Council had given most of the spare weapons to Jaha before he left.”

————

A ball of worry has been steadily growing within Lexa at Octavia’s depiction of her escape. Because it was an escape, from both Arkadia and the man that haunts her past. Lexa understands the need, the drive, to put something like that behind you. But, there’s something more, something that feels  _ off.  _ It settles over her like an itch that she can’t ignore, worry demanding to be heard.

That man, Jaha, had somehow survived. Survived what, exactly? How did he even manage to get to Arkadia without alerting Indra’s scouts? Lexa learned long ago to rely on both her own and Heda’s instincts. She lifts her hand from Clarke’s arm to rub at her own temple.

“Okteivia, who is Jaha?”

The question seems to catch the girl unaware. Had she expected them to know every person in Arkadia? Lexa hasn’t met more than a few, with most of her time being spent with Clarke.

“He is.. was the Chancellor back when the Ark was in space. Similar to your status as Commander, he ruled over everyone. We thought he had died, sacrificing himself to get people to the ground.”

“Then how did he survive?”

Octavia shakes her head, a frown showing her confusion. It’s then that Lexa remembers Indra talking about Octavia’s upbringing. Hiding from everyone in the bowels of the Ark. It’s a wonder she knows anything about their society at all. It’s Clarke that speaks up, with a shrug of her shoulders and a voice laced with uncertainty.

“The Ark had escape pods, like the one Raven arrived in. They were old and unmaintained because we didn’t think there was anywhere to escape to. Maybe Jaha kept one ready for himself?”

There have been reports of explosions and flames racing across the sky. Of hunks of metal crashing into the ground, leaving craters and fire behind. Lexa has been told of the bodies. Numerous, littered around and inside the crashed pieces of the Ark.

“Like how you on the Council kept everything to yourself? How you never went hungry? How you’ve always had everything you needed? No wonder you turned out just like your mother!”

The venomous words cut through the silence left from Clarke’s offered explanation. Lexa watches Clarke’s minute flinch. Watches as her back straightens. Her features hardening into sharp, flinty, edges. Lexa can almost feel the disbelief and anger roiling off Clarke reflected in the glow of her eyes.

“Oh?” Clarke’s words are honeyed, dripping with fake friendliness. In any other situation, Lexa might even fall for it. Now, she recognizes the poison they carry. “So we just had everything we wanted? Never went hungry?” Clarke’s head tilts slightly, a predator staring down her prey. “Tell me Octavia, what do you think the Council did when my dad told them the Ark was dying?” With every word, the fake sweetness is replaced with a harsher tone. “They floated him. Put me in the Skybox. Starved me, just like every other prisoner.”

Lexa watches as Octavia’s eyes, full of fear and desperation, begin to shine brighter from the purple reflection from Clarke’s own eyes.

“I’m waiting.”

She needs to de-escalate this situation before it gets worse. Octavia is like a frightened animal and just acting out in panic. Lexa understands just how that feels, having felt the same during her Conclave, but there’s no enemies here. At least, no real enemies.

“I don’t believe you! You expected everyone to follow you when we landed. Expected to be our leader, even though Bellamy was doing just fine. You murdered Atom and Finn! So many more.. You’re just like them!”

_ “Em Pleni!” (Enough!) _

Lexa’s voice is sharp as it rings out, having reverted to Trigedasleng in her frustration. Casting a single glance to Indra, who nods in response and stands.

“Indra, take Okteivia to the training grounds.” She turns to Octavia with her trademark scowl. “Use your anger productively. If you do not get it under control, you will be consumed and left as ash in its wake.”

She doesn’t wait for a response, knowing Indra will follow her orders. Lexa can feel Heda stirring within her. The spirit has been strangely silent since the earlier confrontation with Wanheda. She’d been caught unaware and unprepared, and watching Clarke walk into TonDC wearing Azgeda armour had been like a slap to the face. Realising that Clarke  _ is _ Wanheda had been frightening, and being the target of that much anger and disdain had only made it worse. And then, Lexa and been told exactly what mistakes she had made at the Maun-de; what she had done to her own people. It had been too much, too soon.

The spirit had been a shaken cluster of emotions. Disbelief, excitement, and despair. As the spirit rises to the surface once again, Lexa can feel how they’ve changed. They’re still there, but they've been joined by a familiar righteousness. She lets Heda surface fully as she turns to face Clarke. Lexa’s eyes take on their fiery glow, but her voice stays her own.

“And you, you know better than to antagonise her. Let her work out her anger on a training dummy; let her come to you. Besides, we need to talk.”

It’s an order and they both know it. One that technically Wanheda doesn’t have to obey, but Clarke seems to understand the seriousness of the situation. Her nod is hesitant and stilted, but she makes no move to leave.

With a gentle swish and click, the door swings closed behind Indra.

————

Octavia follows behind Indra silently, seething with unresolved anger. She hadn’t wanted to get into it with Clarke; had actually wanted to ignore Clarke’s presence entirely.

But, then Clarke had suggested Jaha had kept the means to survive. Had brought up memories of deprivation, of starvation. Octavia can still feel the phantoms of hunger pain, and how it would fade after a while. How Octavia would get more tired, more easily numb and cold.

Indra turns down another street, and Octavia follows mindlessly. She attempts to focus on the anger to keep her grounded, to keep the memories at bay. She’s only somewhat successful and doesn’t manage to pay attention to where they’re going. It’s only as the sound of metal on metal begins to sing in the air that Octavia realises. She’s going to train. Heda has ordered it, and Indra is taking her.

_ Does that mean.. Will she let me come back? _

Mood lifting slightly, Octavia picks up the pace to walk side by side with Indra. She casts a glance at her mentor, trying to gauge how bad this session is going to be. A stone-faced expression and glinting eyes is all she receives. Octavia automatically straightens her back in response. She’s got a chance, she won’t mess it up.

Not this time.

They reach a building smelling strongly of herbs, and Octavia subconsciously labels it as the Healers’ place. Just as they round the corner, Octavia gets her first sight of glinting steel within TonDC. The first signs of people honing their skills, sweating out their frustration.

It feels freeing, like she’s finally come home.

Indra pauses, noticing that Octavia has fallen out of step with her. She turns around and levels a glare at Octavia, who quickly picks her pace back up. A hand lands on her shoulder, and Octavia is briefly graced with a kinder expression. She nods against shelves and racks lined up against the building.

“Go pick a set of training armour for the Seconds, and change out of that revolting uniform. There’ll be a sword for you when you’re ready.”

Octavia practically flies over to the wall, excitement overtaking her anger. She finds a shelf with used garments. Light armour made of cotton and thin leather. Made for sparring and training, not for battle. She hastily narrows it down to a set in her size.

Forgoing modesty, Octavia strips out of her Ark Guard uniform. The rough age-old material has been scraping at her, ill-fitting and the slight smell of stale alcohol has been annoying her since she put it on.

“Good.” Octavia snaps to attention as Indra comes up behind her. She’s handed a wooden training sword. A poor substitute for her own sword, but it will do. Old instincts kick in, and Octavia looks to Indra for guidance.

“Stances. The full routine.”

Octavia studies the grounds, littered with chalk marks that outline the various training pits. She picks an empty one, and marches confidently. Octavia moves to the centre, pausing briefly by the edge of the pit to gently put down her sword.

Stretching briefly, Octavia attempts to empty her mind. To focus on the task at hand. Stances. The ones Indra had taught her, to build strength and muscle memory. Slowly, haltingly, she settles into the first pose. A limber stance, meant to practice her footwork. One foot in front of the other. She’s surprised at how out of practice she is. How much she has to work for the movements.

“Next.”

She shifts, stepping into the next pose. Indra had said it was ancient, from before the bombs. Called it the Tree pose, meant to build flexibility and balance.

One leg bent, her foot pinned against a thigh. Arms raised above her. She maintains it for what feels like ages, trembling like a leaf.

“Shift.”

Her focus is slowly returning. Feels herself falling into the routine. Her foot returns to the ground. The other leg lifts, while her arms remain raised.

“Next.”

It continues. Octavia moves, glides, shifts, stretches, and pulls. Pose by tiring pose. Her mind slowly numbs to the pain, her motions falling back into learned responses. All that is left is a single-minded focus on survival and anger that simmers like magma beneath the surface.

A fist enters her peripheral vision. Octavia ducks, shifting into a defensive stance. Her eyes shift, looking for threats.

“Good, you’re not a lost cause after all.”

Indra moves closer. Throws another punch towards Octavia’s shoulder, who once again moves out of the way. A kick collides with her thigh, and she stumbles back. Her hand moves to massage the spot, but she has to jerk out of the way of another kick aimed at her side.

Anger bubbles within her, and Octavia tries to tamp it down. Indra doesn’t deserve it; it’s not for her.

Another punch collides with Octavia’s left shoulder, and she struggles but manages to slide back into a defensive stance. Hands raised in front of her, she begins to block. Punch by punch, Octavia falls into the rhythm. It’s interrupted by kicks, but she remembers the movements now. Shifts out of the way. ‘Dodging is cheaper than blocking’ Indra had told her once, and the advice comes in handy now. Octavia loses herself to the movements as they speed up. The pattern grows more complex, but stays to offensive punches and kicks.

Eventually, Indra has enough. “Good. You’re in poor shape, but your stances are still decent.” An assessing glance runs over Octavia. Up and down, assessing her shape and form as she pants to regain her breath. “Grab your sword. Your anger is still clouding your judgement.”

Judging by the flare of anger at Indra’s words, Octavia knows she’s right. She feels better than she has in a long time, but still off balance. Feels out of whack, like a strong breeze would be enough to push her back down.

Despite being made from wood, the sword feels heavy in her trembling arms. Indra puts her through her stances again, this time wielding the sword in both defensive and offensive poses. Moves her between them, shifting like a ballerina on a stage. She’s rusty, but she’ll get there.

Finally, finally, Indra tells her she can move on. She leads Octavia to the side, where a row of training dummies are placed. Indra holds out her hands, waiting for Octavia to hand back the sword. She’s confused, but obeys the unspoken order regardless.

Indra observes her with a mixed expression. There is a critical, assessing, look as well as a softer, almost fond, glint in her eyes. She waits a beat before sighing.

“Anger is a poison, Okteivia.” She places the wooden sword on the ground. “Deadly.” She straightens back up. “Mostly to you.” A hand finds the hilt of her own sword. “Anger makes you feel powerful.” She slides it out of the sheath at her side. “It makes you lose track of what is important.” Blade pointing down, Indra holds out the hilt for Octavia. “Anger, untamed, will kill you.”

Octavia hesitantly reaches out. Grasps the hilt and brushes her fingers against Indra, who retracts her hand.

“Untamed, Okteivia. That’s what you are.” Octavia nods, she agrees. She feels chaotic, like a leaf floating along, being carried by the current of the wind. “Anger can be useful. Control it, but don’t it control you. You need to know yourself, learn your limits.”

Indra takes a step back, gazing at Octavia steadily. “For now, I will teach you to use the anger. Use it to fuel your training. Use it to become better.” A smirk forms on Indra’s face, but her eyes remain stern and assessing.

“Pretend the dummy is that man. Jaha. Take him out.”

Anger surges within Octavia. She knows it’s not real. Knows the dummy is nothing but a wooden log, old ragged furs and soot. Blood rushes in her veins. Wind is split by metal soaring through the air. The crash of metal on wood is all Octavia can hear. She doesn’t notice the pained yell she lets out at all, nor the tears flowing down her cheeks.

And yet, when Indra calmly utters her order, Octavia is moving before it registers.

“Again.”

————

Monty has been sitting in silence for a while now. Raven has fallen silent after her comment about Madi. A wolf. Really, Raven had been spot on.

Only Clarke.

But still, a wolf? And something was slightly off, Monty had never been attached to any animals before, not that they had any on the Ark. Even when they had landed on the ground, when the other delinquents had found a small herd of rabbits, Monty hadn’t seen the appeal. Hadn’t wanted them around, to keep them safe.

But now, with Madi? Monty wanted to see her safe, wanted the wolf to trust him. It was odd, almost like a connection had already existed between them. Like he knew the wolf already..

Only Clarke.

Monty would probably go crazy before figuring it out. Leave it to Clarke to find a wolf that seems too intelligent and wary around crowds, but trusting in Clarke to keep her safe. Although, Monty has to admit that trusting in Clarke to keep you safe is as easy as breathing.

  1. _I’m not going to solve it right now. I’ll pester Clarke about Madi later.._



Monty slowly removes the arm still slung around Raven, nudging her out of her own thoughts in the process. He offers her a small smile as he stands. Stretching gently, he winces as it pulls at his still-healing gunshot wound.

“I’m going to go check on the tablet. Hopefully most of the recordings have downloaded by now.”

That seems to catch Raven’s attention more firmly than standing had. Swiftly following suit, she stands and heads for the door. They leave the meeting room and its revelations behind them, followed by the pair of guards Lexa had assigned them. Surprisingly, it doesn’t feel like being watched or trapped.

Walking with new-found purpose, the streets blur by. Before long, Monty and Raven find themselves outside the familiar form of Nyko’s house. He had insisted they stay with him, to allow him to observe their recovery. They suspect Lexa might have suggested it, to make it easier to guard them, but they have no proof.

————

The small room Nyko gave them only just has space for two small beds and a single table. A wide window lines the wall, casting long rays of sunlight across the room. Monty had packed a small array of solar panels before their escape, which lays spread across their beds. Two thin cables run up to a tablet that rests safely on the table.

Raven steps into the room, avoiding the mess of cables attaching the solar panels together. She finds one cable with her eyes, following it to a metallic contraption attached to the window. Finding nothing has fallen down, and no cables have come loose, Raven bends over the tablet. She taps it a few times, and the screen turns on.

Transfer Complete.

It had worked, the antennae she had rigged up with scrap metal had boosted the signal enough to connect Arkadia’s networks. They hadn’t been sure it would work, with the connection being spotty.

“Monty, it finished! We managed to get them all!”

He follows into the room behind her, carefully disassembling the solar panels and packing them back into his backpack. He listens in as Raven fiddles with the tablet to play the recordings from their hidden microphone over Abby’s office.

It’s a lot of boring nonsense, just like when they had met up at night to go over the day's recordings. And, just like they used to do, Raven increases the speed. They skim through, only able to make out every other word. Pausing here and there if something sounds interesting. Monty doesn’t catch why Raven pauses the playback with a curse. He hasn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary.

“He’s supposed to be dead!”

It’s not until she rewinds and plays it at normal speed that Monty understands. He shivers as they listen to the conversation that happened days ago. Jaha is alive? But how?

At the end, Raven looks afraid and Monty reckons he must look the same. This is bad, really, really bad.

“We need to tell Clarke, and Lexa. Right now.”

They rush down through Nyko’s house, stumbling outside into patchy sunlight. Monty turns to the nearest guard with the most serious expression he can muster.

“Where is Heda? There’s something she needs to know!”

————

Lexa stays silent, watching expressions being brought to life on Clarke’s expressive face. It’s a wonder she’s ever able to school it into just one expression, because she is constantly changing. Constantly in motion.

Evidently, Clarke isn’t going to say anything until Lexa forces her. It’s odd and out of character for Clarke who has always seemed so self-assured. So strong.

“Klark.” Their eyes meet, and for the first time Lexa notices the pain lingering in them. “You know Okteivia is hurting.” A slow blink. Lexa tilts her head, wondering why Heda stays silent. “You both are. You lashed out at her, knowing it would turn physical if you didn’t stop.”

Clarke develops an angry frown. The pain in her eyes grows a little deeper, a little darker. Lexa wonders just where this pain is coming from, just what caused Wanheda of all people to be hurt like that. She notices Clarke opening her mouth to give a retort, but Lexa’s hand snaps up to demand silence.

“No. You know it was wrong. You did the same with me earlier, being intentionally cruel.” Lexa sighs tiredly, dropping her head ever so slightly. “You were right to say I made mistakes at the Maun-de. I did, but can you honestly say you wouldn’t have taken the same deal? Wouldn’t have protected your people?”

Again, Lexa stops her when Clarke seems about to fire off a heated reply. Lexa knows the answer, has seen it written with Dante Wallace’s blood on the metal entrance to the Maun-de.

“You didn’t come with me, didn’t wait for me to explain in privacy. Instead, you went after them alone. Somehow you managed to kill them all. Montee told us the story of how you had given them a deal of your own. Your people for theirs, except they didn’t take it. You struck them down.” Lexa leans back into her chair. “You may think me callous and short-sighted. You may think I betrayed you, and I did. But don’t you dare claim you wouldn’t do the same.”

“I wouldn’t! I wouldn’t betray my allies like that! I wouldn’t have betrayed y-” Clarke stops herself mid-sentence, but Lexa knows how that sentence ends. Feels Heda’s burst of painfully melancholic emotions within her.

“But you would, wouldn’t you. If something dared harm your family, you would stop at nothing.” Another deep sigh, and Lexa’s eyes flash brightly. “You forget, Wanheda, that my counterpart knows you. Knows you better than I ever could, perhaps.” Lexa gazes at Madi. “You show off your weaknesses like trophies.”

There’s the fury Lexa expected. The righteous anger and panicked fear for a family member. Lexa should have understood it earlier, the moment Monty told her of his mark. Should have predicted this would happen.

“Don’t you dare.” The words are hissed, and Lexa swears Clarke’s pupils become slightly narrowed.

“So she,” Lexa raises a slim hand to point at Madi, “is not a weakness? You’re not carrying her around to protect her from every potential danger?” Lexa nods to herself, assured her words are spot on, and wondering why it feels like there’s more to it. “You have become arrogant, Wanheda. You know this world is harsh, full of dangers. And yet, you act stronger than others. Like you believe you cannot be harmed.”

Lexa decides to demonstrate, despite knowing how badly it can be taken. She twitches her left hand, reaching for the hidden throwing knife in her sleeve. She catches it with her right, watching as Clarke instinctively curls around Madi to protect her. Furious purple burns brightly in front of her. Lexa knew she had been right.

“All it would take to unmake you, is to take those you love.” Lexa pauses for a second as her thoughts stumble over her words. Love? “Your family is your weakness, and you need to realise that before it’s too late.” Again, Lexa has to catch herself at the wording. Something niggles at her.

_ “Madi is _ **_mine!_ ** _ ”  _ Clarke’s hissed Trigedasleng shakes Lexa’s thoughts loose.

_ Oh. No. Surely..  _

“Clarke.. Please don’t tell me.. Is she- “

She’s interrupted by Indra bursting through the door, followed by the three former Skaikru. They all take in the tense atmosphere in the room, but thankfully nobody is stupid enough to comment on it, the knife in Lexa’s hand, or the fact that Clarke is wrapped protectively around Madi.

“Heda, Wanheda. Montee and Reivon claim they’ve found something you both need to hear.”

Monty steps forward, tablet in hand. His worried and questioning look is ignored by Clarke, who remains hunched over Madi. The tablet is placed on the table, and Monty taps it to play the recording.

It starts in the middle of a conversation. Lexa doesn’t recognize the male voice, but the former Skaikru clearly does if the concentrated frown is anything to go by. Octavia flinches sharply, a panicked look entering her eyes, while her hand seeks any weapon it can. Lexa understands then, that the man must be Jaha. The other voice is familiar but difficult to place. Lexa recognizes it from somewhere, but can’t put a name to it.

“Do you really have to leave so soon, Thelonious? I could really use your help in getting Arkadia back in shape, and I’d be happy to hand over the post of Chancellor to you. I always did my best work in the Medway.”

“I found one, Abby! It took a while, and I had to barter and play nice with some savages. Helped me find your little settlement, though.” Jaha laughs, clearly faking it. “They have some use at least, but it would help if I could take a few armed guards… I had to travel quite far to get here, but I promise you that when I come back you’ll have the sample you need. It’s just like Dr. Tsing described, so we should be able to continue the experiment!”

Judging from the despair Clarke is displaying, she clearly knows what they’re talking about. Both Monty and Raven seem to understand a little more, but both Indra and Octavia seem as lost as Lexa feels. She knows it’s bad though, and asks the only question she can.

“Sample? What is he talking about?”

Clarke’s voice is surprisingly void of emotion, but the way she clutches at Madi answers both questions burning in Lexa’s mind.

“Nightblood. He’s talking about a Nightblood.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a difficult chapter to fit together, as I wanted to show a little bit of each of the Skaikru characters in TonDC. I hope it makes sense with showing a fairly short, but chaotic, period in time.  
> I want to explain a little bit of Octavia’s mindset in this chapter. It’s evident that she has massive trust issues, so why does she seem to trust Indra so readily? Well, the answer is fairly simple. Indra was the first authority figure to give her a chance. To see value in her, and let her grow stronger. She’s firm, but rational, and it’s something that Octavia subconsciously knows she needs. Wouldn’t accept it from anyone else, and should Indra ever betray her trust, Octavia would probably disappear away entirely. 
> 
> Also, we crossed over 1000 kudos with the previous chapter?! I still can’t quite wrap my head around that number, honestly it’s so much more than I ever thought this story would get. Thank you all so much for your wonderful feedback and support so far, it means the world to me that you’re enjoying it!
> 
> On another note, you might have noticed the story has a new summary! Finally came up with one that I was happy with, and that I think better reflects the tone of the story. Hopefully you agree!


	20. Ch 20 - Far From Sanctuary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group discusses just what it might mean that Jaha and Abby are looking for Nightbloods.   
> Raven and Monty make some disturbing connections between things.

Clarke’s voice is surprisingly void of emotion, but the way she clutches at Madi answers both questions burning in Lexa’s mind.

“Nightblood. He’s talking about a Nightblood.”

————

Everyone in the room feels burdened by the weight of her words; of the finality in her voice. The tenseness of her form, and how she’s huddled protectively over Madi. Something had already upset her before they came in, but she’s not changed her stance.

Monty isn’t stupid. There’s more to what Clarke just said. Clarke had said it wasn’t her place to share the secrets of the Nightbloods. She’d even deferred to Lexa before talking about them, despite the visible anger and hurt between them. It had told everything Monty needed to know.

Lexa is a Nightblood.

He shifts slightly to get a better look at her. Lexa sits like a statue. Rigid and completely silent. The look in her eyes is new, but somehow familiar. It makes Monty uneasy, thinking of where he last saw that look. Who wore it.

A glimmer of resigned realization of horror, last seen on Clarke when she pulled the lever in Mt. Weather. A look that Lexa is levelling at Clarke.

_ No.. Not just Clarke. Madi. _

A protective instinct rises within him. Clarke had promised answers, but this doesn’t feel like the right place. It feels wrong, like a whisper in the back of his mind urging him to direct attention to something else. Something like the impossibility that Jaha had mentioned.

“Did you notice Jaha mentioned Dr. Tsing?”

Thankfully Monty feels eyes on him. Raven looks at him questioningly, but a glimmer of understanding fills them.

“The doctor from the Mountain? How would Jaha know her?”

When Clarke finally lifts her head, her eyes are blazing. Madi’s confusion has turned into slight terror at the sight, but Clarke shushes her gently. Visibly restraining herself, Clarke relaxes a little into her chair and the glow in her eyes fades slightly. Her words are steeled with conviction. “He can’t. Dr. Tsing died when we escaped.”

Raven shakes her head sadly. “Clarke, she was one of the first to get the treatment.” A tear leaks out. “Cage was boasting about how Fox had been used for their first bone marrow transplants. She would have survived the radiation.”

Clarke smiles. A cold, humourless, smile. “She didn’t survive.” Monty catches sight of her hand automatically playing with Madi’s fur. Again. “She’s the one that tried to kill me using the last Nightblood they had access to. I killed her myself and destroyed all her research.”

“Are you sure?”

Surprise flickers across Clarke’s face. The words aren’t spat with contempt, but rather with a shaky voice. Uncertain. Octavia looks scared. Nobody responds to her. A deep breath later, Octavia clarifies.

“Are you sure you destroyed all her research?” Monty wonders where Octavia is going with it, watching as Clarke nods. “Because I was in the vents that day, remember? Your mother was there Clarke, and she wasn’t a prisoner.. She restrained herself when the Mountain Men died..” Octavia seems to debate with herself for a moment. At one point, Monty is certain she looks like she wants to lash out at Clarke, but Octavia manages to calm herself. “How did Jaha know to look for a Nightblood, even before coming back to Arkadia?”

And then it clicks for Monty, understanding flooding him. Judging by Raven’s expression, she’s going through something similar.

“You think they were working together before.” It’s not a question, but Monty still feels like he needs to clarify. “In space?”

“They weren’t trying to interfere with our landing..” Raven’s voice is a whisper. “The signal was a beacon. They were guiding the Dropship closer.” She staggers back against the wall. “Abby sent me down to check on you, to see if you were alive.. I don’t understand..”

Silence descends upon the room at that. Nobody has an answer for Raven, all caught up in their own thoughts. Monty is focused on something Clarke had said earlier, about how more Nightbloods had survived the Nuclear apocalypse. It had made sense for the Mountain to be interested in them to be able to live aboveground, but why are Abby and Jaha interested?

“I’m sorry.” Monty addresses Lexa, understanding Clarke wouldn’t explain without permission anyway. “But, what good would it do for them, for us,” Monty gestures at himself, Raven and Octavia, “to have a Nightblood to experiment with? We can already survive on the ground.” He manages to contain a wince at the word ‘experiment’, but only just.

Lexa’s eyes land on him, after quickly darting off to Clarke. She hesitates. “Healing and strength are not the only things that set us apart.” The knife in her hand is grasped tightly, almost nervously as she plays with it. “Understand, Montee, that we make for very good warriors. It is easy to see us as nothing but weapons to wield. Or destroy.”

The chilling statement hangs in the air like a sword above their heads.

“I don’t know what Nightbloods are, but if you’re so dangerous we can’t let them get any. We have to stop them.” Octavia’s voice carries a tinge of panic, confusing Monty. He looks to Clarke, who seems tired and resigned.

“There’s too many.” Lexa’s head snaps to look at Clarke. “To keep them from being found, Heda is only informed when a child is old enough to travel to Polis.” Understanding washes over Lexa’s face. She nods to confirm what Clarke is saying. “Jaha could have found a child, but there are also older Nightbloods. They’re better protected, but with the guns Jaha now has it’ll be difficult to protect them.”

“Klark is correct. There are too many of us to protect, and I cannot storm Arkadia when no crime has been committed yet.” She turns an apologetic frown at Octavia. “Given their threat to my people I can increase the watch around Arkadia and send out orders that Jaha is to be captured on sight, but I cannot act against Arkadia. Not yet.” Lexa sighs. She looks haggard and tired, and it’s the most human Monty remembers seeing her.

“This is not the only threat to my people.” She locks eyes with Clarke. “Thank you for bringing this to our attention, but I need to speak with Wanheda. Privately.”

————

Indra leads the group outside, with Ryder reluctantly following them. He leaves Clarke and Lexa alone in the office, and plants himself by the front door. Lexa may have sent him away, but from the looks of it he won’t stray far.

Monty’s head is swirling. Details that had been mentioned. Possible causes and correlations. Too much to make sense of at the moment. He looks at Raven with a pleading expression, that she thankfully seems to understand. She grabs his arm and they make their farewells, claiming they need to look through the rest of the footage.

The trip passes in seconds. Or weeks. Monty isn’t sure, too caught up in what he thinks he’s discovered. Raven understands. She’s the same when something’s on her mind; needs the silence to properly think through it, to evaluate it thoroughly.

The door closes behind them, and Monty collapses onto his bed with a groan. Raven looks at him for a moment, shaking her head, before heading downstairs to grab them some water.

Lexa is a Nightblood. Clarke has known Nightbloods since before the bombs fell. Both of them reacted poorly when Jaha said he’d found one. Clarke had hugged Madi closer, and Lexa had seemed to stare at Madi.

_ Is that even possible? _

They had both been very clear that there was more to Nightbloods than they had been told. Lexa’s words about being seen as weapons echo in his head, and what was it Clarke had said? “Heda is only informed when the child is old enough to travel to Polis…” Monty’s voice trails off, leaving the room in silence.

Instinct tells him that he’s right. That Madi is a Nightblood, somehow, and that she is marked by Clarke. Monty knows he can be protective, but usually not this fast or this intensely. It feels almost like how he cares for Clarke, but for a younger sister. Because Madi is almost certainly younger.

“Your brain stopped being too loud yet?” Raven’s voice interrupts his thoughts. He hadn’t even noticed that she returned. A wooden mug is pushed towards Monty. The water is delightfully cold and wets his parched throat.

“Just.. I realised something, or I think I did.” He wonders if he should tell Raven the details, but swiftly discards the idea. If Clarke wants to tell them, she will. Besides, it’s not the only thing he’d been thinking about.

“If Abby gets her hands on a Nightblood, what do you think she’ll do?” He gently tilts the mug, causing the water to slush around in swirling motions. “If she knew about the experiments in Mt. Weather before we landed? You heard Clarke, they experimented on their prisoners, both Grounders and their own people.”

Raven’s face pales further and further as Monty speaks, taking on a decidedly unhealthy tone.

“I know, I don’t want to think about it either, but I think we have to.” Monty takes another sip from the mug. “Clarke and Lexa both said Nightblood is deadly, and Abby has to know that. She might be willing to test it on animals, but then they can’t be eaten.” He locks eyes with Raven, who finishes his thought.

“The delinquents. They were preparing for us to die anyway.”

The tablet is still clutched tightly in Monty’s other hand, and he places it gently on the table. Instead of replying when they both agree, he turns it on. Monty quickly navigates through menus to find something He’d forgotten earlier. Something he should have remembered.

Jasper. They had agreed that if they had to split up, they would leave messages on their secure network. Messages that should have been downloaded with the recordings earlier.

**10 Unread Messages**

Tapping the oldest message, Monty begins to slowly read aloud for Raven.

————

Jasper’s strides are measured and precise. He knows the game well by now. They’re watching his every move; double-checking his motives and behaviour. The Council is nothing if not predictable. Dangerous, but predictable.

The metal walls of Arkadia slip by as his feet carry him to the Medical section. The keycard is accepted without question and the door slides smoothly to the side. Stepping inside, he heads for the only private office. Again he stops outside, knocking this time.

The door swings open, catching slightly on ancient hinges. “Come in.” Jasper steps inside, coming face to face with Dr. Jackson. Another pair of eyes to watch out for.

“All delivered. Here’s the signatures.” Jasper holds out the medical tablet he’d been given as part of his new duties. Another thing used to monitor him.

“Good job, did you have any problems?”

At least Dr. Jackson is one of the nicer adults in Arkadia. Works for Griffin though, which is enough to sour him for Jasper. He pretends to think for a moment, locking his eyes on the ceiling in mock concentration.

“Well, a few patients claimed they weren’t given enough meds. I told them I wasn’t allowed to give them any more and even if I wanted to, I only have the doses they’re prescribed. You might get a few visitors demanding adjustments soon.”

A deep sigh emerges from the overworked doctor. Strained laughter follows it as Jackson waves Jasper further into the room and closes the door behind him. The offered chair is in its usual place, and Jasper drops into it with a sigh of his own. It’s been a long day, which he doesn’t even have to pretend.

Jackson’s stomach rumbles, and the laughter drops off. “I wish I didn’t have to ration our medication.. But with no Farm station we have to rely on the small backup unit in Alpha station. It’s just not enough..”

“I know Jackson. You know I offered to help scavenge for medicinal plants outside, but I wasn’t allowed.” Jasper carefully controls his expression, making sure the anger and hurt sounds directed at Monty and Raven. “Not even before the others ran away.” He scoffs “At least without Raven we have more painkillers for the others.”

Jackson frowns, and Jasper wonders if he overdid it. “I know they hurt you, but I’m sure they didn’t mean to.” Ah, so he’s just worried. Jasper wonders how much of that worry is scripted; to try and see if his story changes.

“Maybe they didn’t mean to, but they did. And that’s what matters, isn’t it? They just didn’t trust me enough; even used me to make it easier for them to run.” The hate Jasper infuses into his voice is real, but not against Monty and Raven. His hate is for Abigail Griffin and the Council. Bastards.

“Let’s not dwell on it. We should get to the canteen before the rations are gone. Again.” Jackson’s stomach rumbles again, with Jasper’s following suit shortly after.

Rations. A laughable word for it. Every meal gets smaller and less filling. Even Dr. Jackson is getting too little food, though still far more than Jasper.

Two types of rations. Those for the general population of Arkadia, and those for the delinquents. Jasper swears he ate better when the delinquents had landed in the Dropship originally. The Council is doing it on purpose. Feeding them hard-won scraps and claiming if only they worked harder they would be able to eat more.

They enter the Canteen side by side. The room is bustling with people, everyone hoping to get just a little more to eat than the day before. They’ll be disappointed yet again. Jasper accepts his small serving of tiny berries and half a starchy potato. The glass of water, at least, is appetizing.

Jasper feels eyes on him. He’s too used to the sensation to be startled, but he refuses to look up. Refuses to let them know. It’s too public, and Jasper can’t risk a mistake now. The delinquents know not to approach him, but he’s still managed to sow the seeds.

Just like he and Monty had planned. It’s easier than it should have been; the hunger might sap them of energy, but it does nothing but fan the flames of the building unrest. The group had been unsettled after Mt. Weather. They had been left largely untreated and alone by everyone else.

The Delinquents had needed a leader, but Clarke was gone and Bellamy had joined the Guard again. Monty and Jasper’s actions during the escape from the mountain had quickly spread, despite the Council’s attempt at keeping it quiet.

It won’t take long, and Jasper actually fears it will be too soon. Monty had been injured during the escape, at least that’s if he’s to believe Marcus Kane who had interrogated Jasper afterwards. He hopes Monty and Raven will respond to his messages soon.

The last berry pops in his mouth, leaving a sour taste behind. Surprisingly tasty compared to the dry, bland potato.

————

Clarke relaxes minutely as Lexa twirls her knife back into its hidden sheath. Clarke had nearly panicked earlier, thinking Lexa had been about to attack them. But she’d just been looking for a reaction. Lexa had been surprised with what she learned. Shocked to her core. An unknown Nightblood, right below her nose, and Lexa had taken this long to figure it out.

She understands Clarke’s actions better now. Wanheda has always been known to be almost unhealthily protective of Nightbloods. Nobody knows why exactly and looking at her face now, Lexa doesn’t think Clarke knows either.

Lexa blinks slowly, and turns slowly to appear non-threatening. Facing Clarke, but with her eyes locked on Madi. “You saved her?”

Clarke’s confusion seems to grow for a moment, not understanding why it was important to Lexa to send the others away for this question. “She was caught in a trap in the forest. I set her free, but she was scared of me and ran away for awhile. She only came back for food, and has stuck with me since.”

_ “I know what she is, Klark.” _ Lexa shifts to Trigedasleng on purpose, observing how Madi seems to grow more attentive. How intelligent eyes lock with hers before darting away. Lexa looks up to Clarke and upon seeing her grow tense again, Lexa hurries to continue.

_ “I would never harm a Nightblood. I couldn’t. Wanheda, you give yourself away. Even when I thought Madi to be a wolf, I knew it would hurt you if she was harmed. You care too visibly.” _

Restlessness has been building in Lexa for a while. Sitting still makes her irritable, itching to move and stretch. Finally giving in to the urge to stretch, Lexa stands. Rolling her shoulders and shifting her weight, she begins to slowly pace the small room.

_ “I have been getting reports of Azgeda warriors in Trikru for a while now, travelling further and further towards the Maun-de. And then, they met you. What actually happened, Klark?” _

_ “I did find her caught in a trap, but I didn’t know she was a Nightblood. I found her parents being attacked by Azgeda nearby.”  _ Clarke hugs Madi a little closer. “ _ Her father was already down, but her mother was still standing. I helped take out the Azgeda, but by the end Aiwen was too injured. She died in my arms, begging me to take care of her daughter.” _

Cold dread forms in Lexa at the words. A full-body shudder courses through her.

_ Did Clarke just say Aiwen? _

_ “When I came back to the trap, Madi was gone. I went back to camp, and in the morning saw my hands had been covered with black blood. Madi came back for food after a while, and I discovered I could speak with her. I thought she was a spirit until she found the pyre I made for her parents.” _

_ “You can understand her?” _

_ “I feel her emotions and when she makes noises it sounds like Trigedasleng to me.” _

Clarke can feel Madi. Can hear and understand her. That.. That is not normal, not at all. Madi’s mother was called Aiwen, could it be?

_ “What were her parents' full names, do you know?” _ Lexa dreads the answer; hopes it’s not what she thinks.

_ “Aiwen kom Louwoda Klironkru and Geen kom Trikru, why?” _

_ Jok. Jok. (Fuck. Fuck) _

_ “And she trusted you so quickly after being afraid of you?”  _ Lexa continues with the questions, pacing faster. This was not good, not at all. Had the trap been placed by the Azgeda warriors? Had they been after food and just stumbled into Madi’s family, or had they been hunting Nightbloods?

_ “She was in pain and hungry. She couldn’t hunt.”  _ It’s clear that Clarke isn’t sure where Lexa is going with her questions.

_ “Klark, why did she stay with you? How did you get so protective of her?” _

Clarke frowns, clearly thinking about it. The frown grows deeper as no answer comes forth. Lexa had expected as much.

_ “She felt familiar, didn’t she?”  _ Lexa gives her a hint, already knowing what Clarke’s answer is going to be and at the first sign of understanding, Lexa continues.  _ “You know, as Nightbloods we gain some of the instincts of our Animal. Wolves are pack animals with strong concepts of family and belonging. Scent helps us find them.” _

_ “But I don’t have a wolf form, and I’m not a Nightblood? _ ” Clarke rebuts, with a distinct lack of confidence.

_ “Perhaps not, but you are Wanheda. Known for having a strong bond with Nightbloods; of being incredibly protective of us.”  _ Clarke’s eyes widen minutely.  _ “And, you said the Maunon’s ‘healer’ tried to kill you by injecting you with Nightblood?” _

A slow nod. Good. At least she seems willing to listen.

_ “Did you know Madi had a brother?”  _ Lexa leans against the wall, bracing for what is to come.

_ “Yes, he died just over a year ago?” _ Clarke’s sounds uncertain. So Elenor hadn’t told her then. Probably for the best.  _ “How do you know she had a brother?” _

A tear breaks free from Lexa’s stalwart control, blending with her smudged warpaint and leaving a trail of soot behind. Lexa knows it must look like she’s crying black. Feels like it too.

_ “His name was Kiun. _ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we finally get a bit of an inside view of the Ark. I hope it conveys the dreary attitude there well. It’s definitely not just the delinquents that are upset with how things are..
> 
> I hope you’re all still enjoying the story. I’d love to hear what you think of it :)
> 
> Stay safe everyone!


	21. Ch 21 - A Familiar Precipice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Madi learn a little more about Madi’s family from Lexa. The situation in Arkadia is reaching a boiling point and Clarke isn’t happy to hear about it. Plans are activated and people are beginning to make themselves ready for the inevitable conflict to come.

_ “His name was Kiun. _ ”

————

Lexa’s words are muffled to her own ears, as if listening from behind a closed door. Her hands are clenched tightly at her sides, the memory of her failure fresh in her mind. Her eyes stay sharp even with the pools of unshed tears in their corners; sharp enough to watch as Clarke freezes in place and as Madi’s blue-green eyes lock with her own.

_ “His name was Kiun.”  _ She repeats herself, the words sounding dull and empty. The greens of Madi’s eyes seem to shimmer lightly, whether from tears or something else, Lexa can’t tell. The wall is stiff behind her, but solid enough to keep her up. Lexa doesn’t like dwelling on her failures, but this isn’t for her. Madi deserves to know.

Eyes still locked with Madi, Lexa attempts to relax her stance. She softens her voice and appearance, deciding to approach Madi like she would any other Nightblood.

_ “As you know, he was a Nightblood.”  _ Madi’s small head bobs in agreement.  _ “Kiun stayed in Polis over the winter to train with the other Nightbloods and I. He started travelling back to Drom when the snow had started melting, wanting to help with the start of farming season, but your father came to visit me a week later saying Kiun had never arrived home.” _ Lexa does her best to quell the memories of the camp-site they had found; of the half-rotten meal left hanging over a fire pit, or the dismembered bodies of his guards. The mixed red and black blood. She swallows hard.

_ “We found their camp-site about two days' travel from Drom. Your brother’s guards were dead, and your brother was missing. There was a trail leading away from the camp, which led to a Pauna’s den. We thought it had taken it, as it came to defend its den from us.” _

The air hangs heavy and silent in the room and Lexa can feel the weight of it on her shoulders. She had failed to protect one of her own; one of her Nightbloods.

_ “But the Pauna didn’t take him.”  _ Clarke’s voice is soft and understanding, for Madi no doubt, but Lexa appreciates it all the same. There’s horror and anger flashing in those purple eyes, but for once Lexa doesn’t feel it directed at her. A slow relief spreads from the back of her neck down her body at the thought, easing the tension in her shoulders a little. With careful movements Lexa takes her place in her chair again, still focused on Madi.

_ “No, the Pauna didn’t take him.”  _ Lexa reaches her hand forward as if to comfort Madi, but stops herself before she can make contact, unsure if it would be welcome.  _ “Somehow the Maunon managed to take Kiun from the Pauna. Took his blood from him. Took his very fight from him.”  _ Needing to convey how serious this is, how important, Lexa’s eyes tilt up to meet Clarke’s.  _ “But, Madi, your brother had been in danger before. He had an animal form just like you do, just like your grandfather did.”  _ She swallows again, needing to get the words out so she can get away from the memories.  _ “He was a wolf, Madi; like you. He was your pack, even before your form found you.” _

_ “When the Maunon put his blood into Klark… I think the pack bond survived.”  _ Lexa can see the disbelief in Clarke’s eyes. The rampant desire to object and vehemently deny Lexa; that it can’t be true, that it’s not how blood works.

But Clarke says nothing, kept silent by the assured confidence Lexa is displaying. It’s clear that she’s suspicious of it, that she doesn’t want to believe Lexa.

_ “Nightblood is deadly to everyone else, Klark, but to us blood is sacred. It binds us.” _

_ “Binds you?”  _ The words are not as antagonistic as Lexa has expected. Questioning and incredulous, yes, but there’s no malice.

Lexa nods solemnly, keeping her eyes locked on Clarke’s.  _ “We exchange blood to seal vows, Klark. To join families and communities. It is unusual as you did not share your own with Kiun, but..” _ Lexa’s eyes rove over Clarke’s face, cataloguing the slight tilt of her head and the squint of her eyes; the way her lips curl slightly as if stopping herself from speaking. Clarke does not understand.

_ “You Mark your family… It is similar.”  _ Lexa lets a sense of finality leak into her words. Lets it drip black from her heart as her grief over the loss of Kiun is dragged back to the surface. Her choices had led to this, to another Nightblood losing their life. She had thought it would be over. It never is.

The sharing of blood is a sacred tradition between Nightbloods, one that Lexa has participated in several times. She could attempt to explain it to Clarke; could give examples of how it works and how it feels. She doesn’t want to. Lexa feels rubbed raw inside from the emotional turmoil. She might look stoic, might even convince herself that it's true sometimes. But, it’s times like these that the hole that’s been torn in her heart  _ aches _ with loss. The tears are threatening to well up again, to flow down her already running warpaint.

The door beckons to Lexa, offering a way out. She needs to get away, has already been far too weak for one day. It’s one thing to let her Nightbloods see her weakness, but letting Indra and the Skaikru see is too much. She stands, taking care not to startle Madi whose eyes never left her. Never wavered.

Three quick strides has Lexa by the door, hand wrapped tightly around the handle. Lexa turns to look at Clarke over her shoulder; takes in the confusion still lining her pale face.

_ “You may not be a Nightblood, Klark, but perhaps we are more alike than you think.” _

She closes the door gently behind her, bracing herself with an outstretched hand against the wall. The anger at her loss of emotional control causes Lexa to ball her fists up tightly, nails digging into her palms. On the way out, she passes by Ryder who gives her a sympathetic smile before falling into step behind her.

Lexa sets a pace just shy of running to burn off the excess energy within her. Her limbs are tingling with the desire to be used, to lift and stretch and tense. To delve into training and master her emotions. Unfortunately, Lexa doesn’t have time for such self-indulgence. If that man, Jaha, is after Nightbloods then she needs to prepare.

Their feet pound against the cobblestone road as Lexa pushes herself faster. It’s undignified, but her people could be in danger. The harsh sound of metal on metal and laboured panting grows louder and more insistent the closer Lexa comes to the training grounds.

She finds Indra standing with the group of warriors supervising their Sekens with watchful eyes. They all snap to attention as their Heda comes to a halt in front of them, eyes blazing. “Gather the scouts.” Lexa bites out the order, while trying to wrestle the upset spirit within her under control. “And bring me our fastest rider.”

————

_ “Madi? _ ”

Kiun was her brother. The Nightblood captured by the Mountain Men had been Madi’s brother, and now Clarke has some of his blood flowing within her. She feels slightly sick at the thought; feels like Madi is being forced to care about Clarke, that somehow she’s taken Madi’s brother from her.

Madi lies tensely in Clarke’s lap, stiff and motionless. She had been listening silently as Lexa spoke, but Clarke had felt her sadness spike. Even now confusion and grief is heavy in the air, though Clarke isn’t sure how she knows. Instinct probably, or perhaps the pack bond Lexa had mentioned. Even with decades of having helped Nightbloods escape a torturous fate, Clarke knows so little about the elusive people.

Lexa had been upset, that much was clear. There’s a lot more going on here than Clarke knows and it’s tearing at her. She has a driving, burning, need to protect Madi. She’s always been protective of Nightbloods; always had that insistent itch at the back of her mind that they are _ important _ , but Clarke doesn’t know why. With Madi, however, it’s stronger. Fiercer. Unlike an itch that you can ignore, the thought of Madi being harmed feels like touching her skin to red-hot iron. Like burning alive.

_ “She.. I don’t know..” _ Madi sniffles quietly as she turns around and burrows into Clarke.  _ “I don’t remember his scent, but you’re not the same.” _ Clarke sucks in a mouthful of air, trying to make sense of the statement.  _ ”You smell warm. Safe.”  _ She sounds unsure, like she’s attempting to explain something without knowing the right words.

_ “I’m so sorry he’s gone sweetheart.”  _ Clarke reaches out automatically to soothe Madi, giving in to the overpowering instincts flourishing within her. “ _ I don’t know what’s happened either, but you don’t have to worry, I’m not going to leave you. We’ll figure this out, together.” _ Clarke couldn’t stop even if she tried and Madi deserves to be happy. Deserves to have someone that cares about her.

Perhaps she should tell Monty and Raven the truth about Madi. Clarke is almost certain that Monty has caught on that there’s more to Madi than meets the eye. Perhaps Lexa had been right; perhaps Clarke had been too open with her affection. If Lexa was able spot it, then surely others would be as well.

_ But.. It’s not my secret to tell. _

She’d only just been told of the Nightbloods’ Animal forms by Elenor, who had been clear that if Madi hadn’t been in Clarke’s lap then it would have been denied. Wanheda wouldn’t have known.

If there’s something Clarke understands instinctively, it’s the desire to protect the Nightbloods. She doesn’t know why, but it’s ingrained in her. From the first time she met one, she’s been filled with that protective urge. The highest ranking Nightblood Clarke knows is Lexa, and at least on this topic she knows Lexa will be willing to listen. She’ll bring it up with her first.

Clarke’s slim, but muscular, arms slip underneath Madi and lifts her gently to her chest. Trying to offer as much comfort as possible, Clarke carries her from the small office. It’s time her friends learn about Madi. About her daughter.

_ Wait, daughter? Oh no no no _

————

Monty’s voice trails off at the end of Jasper’s last message, leaving the room silent save for the creaking of the wooden bed as he stretches.

“They’re getting worse.” The gloom in the room causes Raven to whisper the words with caution instead of the urgency she had intended. “It was bad when we left, but this?”

Monty looks up but doesn’t respond, making Raven’s worry increase. He sighs and with a glance and gesture of his left hand at the tablet she knows it’s worse than she thinks. She takes in his drawn expression and tired posture in a moment, before reaching out for the tablet herself. What she sees causes her to sit back down heavily on her own bed.

Jasper’s vitals.

They had started recording their vitals before they left, weeks ago, to keep track of how they were being treated; to watch if they ate enough. It had been bad, of course, all of them losing significant weight after being freed from the Mountain. But this?

Jasper’s lost weight; a lot of weight. In the week they’ve been gone he’s lost another four pounds, and from what he’s written it’s only going to get worse. A diet of two potatoes and some berries every day?

“Scroll down.” Monty sounds so detached that Raven forces her eyes away from the small screen. There’s worry written plainly on his face, mixing with the regret she knows is mirrored on her own face. They should never have left alone; should have attempted to take as many with them as they could.

Jasper’s vitals give way to that of the delinquents. How Jasper got his hands on them Raven doesn’t know, but she’s glad that he did. Names with weights and how much food they’re given; how much work they’re given. Bile rises in her throat.

Slaves. They’re being treated like slaves. Disposable slaves no less. Her own people are no better than the Mountain Men. Worse actually. At least the Mountain Men had the decency to be visibly evil when it came down to it; didn’t have any qualms making the situation seem better than it was.

For the Mountain Men it was survival, which is something Raven respects. Grudgingly, but respect nonetheless. For the Ark, for the Council, it’s nothing less than hubris. The delinquents are prisoners and prisoners are expensive to keep alive.

She doesn’t know why she expected any better, and is in the middle of saying as much to Monty when there’s a tentative knock on the door. Nyko would have called out, and Raven doesn’t know anyone else who would knock.

“Who is it?”

“Clarke. Can I come in?”

Monty’s up in a rush and opening the door before Raven can reply. He practically pulls Clarke into the room, giving a welcoming smile to the wolf in her arms before stepping back.

“We have a problem Clarke.” And isn’t that an understatement? Don’t they always?

Raven thrusts the tablet out in front of her as she begins to rattle off the messages Jasper had left for them. Messages describing the harsh and inhumane treatment of the Delinquents, their people. Clarke’s people.

She’s listening, Raven can tell, but her focus is on the wolf in her arms. She slowly places Madi down on Monty’s bed after a quick glance to see if it’s OK. Then, she grasps the tablet with one hand and, as she reads, Raven pays attention to how she tenses. Muscles coil with power that Raven has never seen Clarke display before; A quiet rage causes her to tremble slightly in place.

**“Fuck this. We’re getting them out of there.”**

————

Forcing one foot in front of the other, Jasper slowly staggers down the hallway. A bone-deep exhaustion weighs him down. Dreams of a pliable mattress and soft sheets; of a warm duvet and the face of the girl he cannot stop thinking about. The worry tightens in his gut, curling and twisting like an angry snake caught in a net.

Maya.

Not dead. She can’t be. Monty had promised they hadn’t found her; that he and Clarke had scanned Mt. Weather thoroughly before leaving, but that Maya hadn’t been found. Jasper clings fervently to that hope.

Not dead, just.. Missing.

It’s better, at least, than the knowledge of death. There’s a dangerous sort of anticipation and a vicious determination to search for her; to find her. To bring her to safety. He knows it’s wrong; that he should be focused on saving his friends instead. He is, really is, but Maya has managed to worm herself into his heart. He needs to get out, get his friends out, but he’s doing it because they can help him find her. Monty had understood; had given him a sad and understanding smile and laid a grounding hand on his shoulder.

The lights overhead flicker to the tune of a soundless song. It’s unsettling, but with so few qualified people to maintain the Ark it’s only natural. With the Go-Sci Station left in orbit there’s no nuclear reactor for power and the atmosphere blocks more sunlight making the few still functional solar-panels on Alpha Station less effective.

The sound of his ancient and worn boots ricochets off the cold metal floor of the abandoned corridor; it bounds down numerous hallways and returns with a twisting echoing quality. The Ark feels dead, like a decaying husk of a once-great animal.

The door to his tiny bunk room slides open. Small, but significantly spacier now that Monty has left. The Council has allowed him to stay here instead of being moved outside with the other delinquents, on the condition that he continues to be useful. Continues to work himself into the ground.

Jokes on them. They might think him weak and pliable and privately he might agree, but Monty and him had come up with a solid plan.

He staggers onto his bed, not bothering to shed his clothes. He’ll need them later. Minutely more alert, Jasper checks his belongings for tampering; it wouldn’t be the first time the Council has done a spot check, and it won’t be the last.

They haven’t found anything, obviously. With how much illicit trade that had been going on when the Ark was in orbit, you’d think they would know the hiding places better; that they would know what to be watchful for.

————

The silent alarm that Jasper had set goes off at one in the morning. Sluggishly he wipes the sleep from his tired eyes and checks his room again. The door is locked tight, but it can easily be opened by a guard or council-member. He won’t have long.

The boots are left behind as they will make too much noise in the cramped crawlspace of the maintenance ducts. He leaves the medical tablet behind, making sure to make as little noise as possible in case it’s recording him. Monty would call him paranoid. He might be right.

Moving through the ducts is as boring as ever. The damp, cramped, space makes Jasper uncomfortable, but he’s just glad that Raven had given him the tools needed to open the vent in his and Monty’s room. With a few design changes from her the change to the cover isn’t even visible.

Harper is waiting for him at the grate that used to connect to Farm Station, but now ends conveniently close to the delinquents little encampment. They exchange greetings in a rush and Jasper wishes that he had some food for her. She looks thin, dangerously so. At least tonight Jasper has better news for her as she hands over a hastily scribbled list of names.

“They finally saw my messages. Start preparing, but don’t tell the others just yet. Monty said they’re with Clarke, and to be ready in three days.”

With that, Jasper scurries back into the ducts to type up the list and send it to Monty before heading back to his room.

Three days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh this chapter fought me every step of the way. Jasper just did not want to participate this time around, but I think we managed to come to an understanding. Which is also why it’s slightly shorter than usual :)
> 
> If you watched the series finale and, like me, was a bit underwhelmed or disappointed then I wrote a oneshot called “Eternity” that you might like. 
> 
> Looking forward to hearing what you think of this chapter!


	22. Ch 22 - Think of Tomorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You clearly have a plan, so let’s hear it.”
> 
> Monty does, it seems. A plan that has been cooked up between him and Jasper, and one that just might be successful. They’re going to need help though.

The rhythmic sound of drops of water splashing onto the floor of the concrete cell is interrupted by a long, pained, groan. A man lies unconscious in a small puddle of his own blood, seeping from numerous shallow cuts on his skin. Another man lies beside him, though this one is stronger. Not as weak as the other Maunon.

This one, Emerson, hasn’t passed out. Not yet, at least.

The man struggles back upright, but stays on his knees. His breathing is heavy, laboured, and his features are drawn with pain. He had not cried out in pain as the knife had dug deep ridges in his skin and even now he remains as quiet as he is able. Perhaps Emerson is not entirely useless if he already knows his place is beneath them. That might be worth exploring.

“Your leader is weak. Pathetic.” Queen Nia spits on the downed man beside Emerson. There’s a quietly simmering hatred visible in her every movement, though everyone in the room knows it’s not directed at them. She is fearsome and would not hesitate to harm them should she wish to do so, but it would serve her no purpose.

“My warriors have been slain by Wanheda if the rumours are to be believed. And, even though Lexa” Spittle flies from the Queen at the thought of the young Heda, “claims that the young Nightblood was killed, I know she is alive. My warriors would not dare disobey me.” She turns her head around the small enclosed space, eyes lingering on her fervently nodding servants one by one, before finally gracing Emerson with her attention again.

“And so the question remains, just how did Wanheda know where the Nightblood was? How did she find her? You have seen what happens to those that lie to me.” Emerson glances down to Cage Wallace lying beside him and gulps slightly. He nods slowly.

“Now, tell me— exactly— who knew about the Nightblood you captured? Who knew about Kiun?”

Emerson gulps again, before a steely glint enters his eyes. His expression draws taut after glancing at Cage again. When he speaks, his tone is devoid of emotion though a lingering trace of pain hangs on each word.

“You already know that Cage lied to you, Your Majesty. We weren’t the only of our people to have been treated with the— what did you call them— Skaikru blood. Our doctor, Lorelei Tsing, was one of the first to be treated.” He trembles slightly, pausing for a moment as the cold of sitting naked on the concrete floor of the dungeon makes his injuries flare with pain. “She would have survived what that bitch did to my people. She was there when I interrogated the beast-” A glare from Nia stops him from continuing. “Nightblood, when I interrogated the Nightblood. She would have known about his family. Clarke could have found Dr. Tsing.”

“You show promise.” There’s a pregnant pause as the Queen keeps them all on their toes. Everyone can feel the impending judgement, though knowing her it could be anything. The dagger at her hip is pulled free and she takes a moment to inspect the edge of the blade.

“You will be adequate. Take the life of your pathetic leader and you will have a place by my people. You and your remaining Maunon.” Doubt fills Emerson’s eyes for a moment before they lock on the dagger in the Queen's hand. She sees the question for what it is, and a cruel smirk forms before he has a chance to voice it. “No. You haven’t earned a blade yet.” She draws the tip teasingly over her own palm.

“Use what you have on you,” she mocks, laughing at his naked body, “and I just might consider it.”

Slowly, Emerson nods. He looks down at Cage with regret, though there’s hatred visible there as well. Perhaps the man recognizes the mistakes of his former leader? He is stiff from the cold and the pain of his injuries, but once Emerson starts moving he doesn’t stop; doesn’t even slow as he moves over Cage Wallace. Struggling, he twists Cage to lie on his stomach. Emerson’s arm winds around Wallace’s neck while the other moves to hold his head. With a twist and a crack of bone Cage’s breathing stops abruptly and his body makes a sick, final, thud as his head slams back down into hard concrete.

**_Disloyal. Weak. Just like the Queen._ **

————

Monty hits send on the message to Jasper, letting the tension in his body fade with a slow breath out.

Three days.

That’s what they had promised Jasper. Three days before they arrive with the intention of freeing the delinquents. Now they just have to plan the rescue, a task which means Monty will need to tell the others everything he and Jasper had planned.

“You know we had a backup plan for Jasper, should he be caught.” The quiet words breach the comfortable silence between them. He can feel Raven’s eyes on him and can see how Clarke smiles and tilts her head, as if to say she’s listening.

“Obviously. I was there when we agreed Jasper needed to get more painkillers for me.”

He shakes his head with a rueful grin. “Well.. Yes, but like I said the other day, you were dependent on the Council for your painkillers. We didn’t tell you everything.” He reaches out to pat Raven on the shoulder. “We didn’t lie to you, just left out a few parts. As you know, if they caught him in Medical, then he’d just claim you’d been in pain and asked for some more painkillers. That’s what he did.”

Raven nods slowly. She’d been upset when Monty had mentioned the deception earlier, but it looks like she understands now.

“Jasper and I, we saw what they were doing to you, Raven. If they were willing to treat one of the most important people in Arkadia that way, how do you think they would treat the delinquents?” His despondent voice trails off, waiting for understanding to set in. “We never planned to stay. Clarke, you’d left, but I knew you’d be back eventually. With how your mother was, and still is, so concerned about getting you imprisoned to ‘make you better’, we couldn’t count on you being able to change anything.”

“It’s okay.. I.. I don’t know when I would have come back if you hadn’t gotten hurt..”

Monty smiles back, uncertain again just how the Mark works. He doesn’t mind being so connected with Clarke, — enjoys it actually — but it’s a  _ little _ strange. Unsure of how to respond to her statement he leaves it hanging for now.

“Jasper’s plan was to prepare the delinquents to leave. We knew some of them wouldn’t want to, even with how the Council treats them, though we didn’t realise how bad it’d get. He’s been riling them up; not enough to get caught or have anyone pointing fingers at him, but enough to make the rift between the delinquents and Ark bigger. Before leaving Arkadia, we’d been talking about finding common ground with some of the adults, as not all of them seemed happy with how we were being treated.”

Clarke seems to have caught on already, if the proud smirk she’s wearing is any indication, but it’s Raven’s shocked voice that puts words to what Monty and Jasper have been doing.

“You’re trying to start a rebellion.”

Which basically says it all. Monty doesn’t need to clarify, as it’s clear that both of them get it, so he simply smiles bashfully and reaches out for the tablet on the table.

“It’s not perfect, hell it’s not even complete, but we’d all been working on a map of Arkadia. Nothing the Council could frown upon if found, but we couldn’t explore everywhere. Especially not near the guards. But.. “ Monty taps the screen a few times, types in his password, and flips it around for Clarke to see. “We did use it to find the weak spot in the fence for Raven to make a hole, but Jasper and I thought we could use it for the delinquents as well. We just hadn’t expected to leave without them, not at first.”

Clarke picks up the tablet to view the map Monty has brought up. She’s greeted with a mix of overly technical drawings of Alpha station and a detailed addition of the electrical fence surrounding Arkadia, likely done by Raven, and more primitive sketches of the additions made to the fallen station. The tents and temporary housing used by the delinquents is the most detailed, with simple boxes outlining the rest.

“The delinquents are housed up against the fence and Alpha station, but the location was picked deliberately. It’s easily watched and far from the gate, to protect against the wind, supposedly. We couldn’t inspect the fence there too closely, but it didn’t seem to have any flaws we can use.” Monty tries to explain what Clarke is looking at and how they can use it. “But, if you look at the area to the right of the gate, that’s where the outside cooking fires have been placed, and where we gathered after Mt. Weather.”

“You clearly have a plan, so let’s hear it.” Clarke even sounds amused, though the serious look in her eyes tells him she’s still upset over the treatment of the delinquents.

Monty sighs as he reaches under the bed to grab a roll of paper that Nyko had provided. “You’re right, I do. Well, it was Jasper’s idea first. We were going to set off a number of distractions all at once. Bombs at the fence, failures in the Ark’s electrical systems, and so on. Enough to stop the Council from focusing on the delinquents, but not enough to cause damage to others. Jasper won’t be able to do it on his own, but from his messages it sounds like some of the others are willing to help. Harper is, at least.” A small bundle of wrapped pencils follows, and he hands them over to Clarke.

“We’re going to need a bigger map.” Clarke nods, already having understood what Monty wants her to do. She grabs the pencils and starts copying down the map from the tablet, while a single thought keeps repeating itself in her mind.

“We’re going to have to involve Lexa.” Clarke sounds reluctant, but sure of her words. “I.. We can’t just bring so many people into TonDC unannounced. The Council is going to want to retaliate, and Lexa needs to be warned of what we’ll do.” Clarke pauses for a beat, looking hopeful for a moment before whispering to herself. “Maybe she’ll help.”

————

The wooden throne beneath Lexa is cold and comforting; solid and study, propping her up and giving her the strength needed to get through the day. Her mind is under siege by thoughts of numerous decisions she’s taken over the years, each followed by a poisonous  _ what if _ . The memory of her Conclave is more vivid and colourful than any other she holds, evidence of the poison that had flowed through her veins. She still remembers the boiling, spitting, rage that had descended upon her. How the insidious whispers of the drug had overpowered even Heda for a moment.

Lexa remembers how the arena had run black with the blood of her friends. Her family.

Whoever had sabotaged the Conclave had gotten away, never to be found. They must still be out there. Still alive. It’s unacceptable, but Lexa has done the best she could in the aftermath. Had enacted new protections for the Nightbloods, keeping them secret for as long as possible. No longer are Nightbloods moved to Polis under threat of violence; no longer is every infant cut to check the colour of their blood.

It had worked, for a number of years at least, but now someone is hunting her people again. Already one has been captured and killed, though Wanheda had stepped up; had found the people responsible and utterly eradicated them.

But, Wanheda isn’t solely responsible for the Nightbloods. They are Lexa’s people. Hers to protect and guide. They’re hers to nurture. Titus would disagree, but he isn’t a Nightblood and hasn’t been taught more than the basics about Nightblood society.

They’re Lexa’s.

That’s all that matters. Someone is after her people; wants to get access to their blood and perform experiments. Lexa won’t let them.

She abandons any pretence of containing her emotions. This is too important and the calculating displeasure of Heda will be useful. Her eyes are blazing brightly — far longer than usual — as Lexa tilts her head to inspect the scouts gathered in the throne room. Indra’s wary but impassive stance off to the side alerts Lexa to the presence of the rider she had requested.

“Silence.”

The last rustling of armour and near-silent murmurs die out at the word laden with authority.

“A man visited the Skaikru village of Arkadia.” Lexa’s grip on the throwing knife tightens, missing the familiar weight of her dagger. “He has threatened to capture one of our Nightbloods, taking many of the Skaikru’s weapons with him.” The silence turns somber at the thought of weapons like those of the Maunon.

“I want you to tighten the perimeter around Arkadia. Do not interact with them. Do not threaten them.” More than one outraged scoff sounds, but a lifted hand from Lexa is enough to compel them to silence. “Enough! You are scouts. You know why I have called you here instead of the warriors. Everything that happens in Arkadia will be reported to Indra. Who you see, what they do and whom they interact with. I want to know about their weapons, how many they have and where their weaknesses are.  **Report everything. Am I understood?** ”

The power of her words roll through the room like a wave, shaking everyone with the understated power they carry. As if the blazing eyes hadn’t been enough proof that Heda was in the room, the booming voice only serves to further establish the presence.

As one, the scouts incline their heads in a respectful bow and a chorus of determined voices call out.  _ “Sha Heda.” (Yes Heda) _

Lexa turns towards Indra and gives a sharp nod; permission for Indra to step forward and organize the scouts. The scouts all pack around the small table with the map of the surrounding area as Indra splits them into pairs and assigns watch rotations.

Lexa beckons the rider forward, examining him as he does so. The messenger does a good job at imitating Indra’s stoic and expressionless attitude, but Lexa can see the traces of pride and honour of serving his Heda in his body. The way his light leather armour is gleaming and has been recently cleaned, and the way his stance radiates confidence in being able to perform his duties.

“I need you in Polis as fast as possible. I have several messages, but the most important is this. Go to the Tower and tell my personal guards that you need eleven other messengers, give them this as proof.” Lexa grabs the collection of sealed missives by her side, holding one in particular out for the messenger. “You and the other messengers may read it after the guard has unsealed it. You are to go to Floukru and to request an audience with Luna Kom Floukru on my authority while the other messengers ride to each of the other clans. The message is simple.” A stack of twelve wax-sealed letters are handed over to the messenger who carefully places it in a bag by his side. “The leaders of each clan is to meet with me in Polis in a fortnight.”

The messenger’s eyes widen, but true to form does not voice any surprise. Lexa appreciates it, knowing that unquestioning obedience is hard-earned. She levels a playful look at the messenger. “You might as well let Titus know that we’ll have guests.” This time, the man’s stoic façade crumbles and a smile is quickly formed. Everyone knows how much Titus dislikes surprises.

_ “Sha Heda!” _

————

A knock on the door interrupts the discussions among the scouts. A glare from Indra has them continuing without further disruption as the door opens to admit one of the warriors guarding it.

“Heda? Wanheda wishes to speak with you.”

The messenger has long left for Polis and the scouts can sort out their watch between themselves, and under Indra’s careful watch of course. Lexa stands and steps away from her throne, exchanging a brief glance with Indra. The Chief knows what to do.

“I will join her. Indra and her scouts are to be left alone, unless they request a visitor.”

Lexa strides past the guard, gathering her thoughts with every silent step. Clarke wants to see her. It has to be important, especially after the news Lexa had given her and Madi. She had expected a day without contact, perhaps even for Clarke to leave TonDC without another word.

**_Fool. She cares for you. For us._ **

_ She hates me. _

**_Our actions, perhaps, but she will forgive that in time. Regardless, she did not strike us down when she could have. Open your eyes, Lexa, think._ **

_ Perhaps we had something, before the Maun-de. But now? I don- _

**_Do you truly think she would have let you near Madi, near Monty or even Raven if she did not trust you at least a little? She asked them to go to you for Sanctuary, Lexa. And that had to have been right after the Maun-de; right after our betrayal._ **

**_Wanheda cares, young one. Give her time to realise it._ **

“Lexa?”

She blinks, finding that her feet have carried her outside the building without thought. The afternoon sun streaks through the leaves overhead, causing scattered spots of light to dance across her vision. Clarke stands beside her, a worried frown mar her now clean beautiful face.

Unsure what to say and afraid that words might fail her, Lexa decides to get down to business. “The guard said you wanted to see me?” She curses herself for letting the tiny sliver of hope enter her voice. It’s too soon and Lexa knows she doesn’t stand a chance. Not any more.

“They’re treating my people as slaves.” Judging by the surprised look, that wasn’t what Clarke intended to say. Still, Lexa thinks she knows where this discussion is going to lead. She sets a slow pace down the street and motions for Clarke to follow.

“What I meant to say is.. We already knew they were being set up to not survive winter. I thought I would have more time to get to them, but the Council has been giving them the smallest possible rations and only in exchange for hard labour day in and out.” Clarke’s voice trails off as they walk through the open gate to TonDC and further into the forest.

“I’m going to free them.” Clarke states it as a fact, which Lexa supposes it might as well be. No spirit would leave their people behind and they both know it. “And you need my help?”

Clarke stops mid-stride with a pinched look and gestures around them, at the forest. “Yes, but not the way you might think.” Lexa raises an eyebrow in question. “Look, we don’t need your help in getting my people out. It might actually be for the best if the Council thinks you’re not involved. They’re not going to be happy as it is. But, I need help to get my people healthy. They need a place to stay and food to eat.” Lexa can feel her eyebrows climbing higher and higher with every word.

“How many people?” Lexa needs something to work with.

“I don’t know.”

Lexa blinks, slowly. “You don’t know?”

“Monty and Jasper thought that some of the adults would want to escape as well, so no, I don’t know. At least 40 though.” Clarke shakes her head and starts walking again. “Look Lexa, they can stay in the Mountain if they have to, but I will need help to feed and train them. With all my changes they probably won’t trust me. Wait, is the alliance still standing?”

Clarke’s sudden jump in topic has Lexa stumbling over her words for a second. “The alliance was between you and I. I may have broken it at the Maun-de, but I have honoured it in all other aspects. Arkadia has been left alone.”

“Then, if you aid my people, I will consider it payment for the breach in alliance.” Clarke breathes in deeply while turning to face Lexa head on. “My people are more important than us. You taught me that.”

The words said in a friendly tone and Lexa detects no malice from Clarke, but still they cut deep. She waits for Clarke to continue, but she seems to be unsure of herself. Suddenly there’s a momentary flash of her eyes, and Lexa realises she must have been having a debate with herself.

“Protect my people, Heda. Help them settle into life on the ground and teach them how to help themselves, because the moment they leave Arkadia, they cease to be Skaikru.” Lexa’s eyes widen at the proclamation. “Do this, and I will consider our debt settled.”

“Klark, if they won’t be Skaikru, then what do you want to call them.” Lexa’s worry about Clarke forming a clan is increasing, especially with the mention of settling the Maun-de.

“That’s up to them.” Clarke sighs ruefully. “They might be my people, but I can’t lead them. Remember, I have had hosts since the First Commander, since Faye, so I know the clans are afraid of me. Look, just give them a chance to prove themselves. They’re resourceful and adaptable, and I would hope you allow them to either form a clan of their own or join one.”

_ Doesn’t she know? _

“Klark, the clans don’t fear you personally. They fear what happens when you, when Wanheda, shows up. The defeat of the Maun-de would have caused conflict regardless of how it happened.”

Lexa’s hand automatically finds Clarke’s shoulder and she squeezes gently before realising what she’s doing. The hand drops awkwardly back to her side.

“I will aid your people, Klark. They will be taken care of, you have my word, but we will need to continue calling them Skaikru for a while yet. The coalition knows the alliance was made between us with Skaikru in mind. If you wish to change it, it will have to be done in Polis.”

————

It’s been two days.

Two days since Monty’s message. Two stressful days of looking over his shoulder and watching his every move. There hasn’t been any room for mistakes; no room to grow comfortable.

But, at the same time, Jasper hasn’t been able to be on guard. The guards and the council would likely grow suspicious of him if he started acting more cautiously. He has stuck to his usual schedule as best as possible, interacting with the poor and sickly every day to help Dr. Jackson out.

Dr. Jackson is one of the few adults in Arkadia that Jasper feels like understands their situation; understands that it’s not sustainable. They’re not living, barely even surviving, actually.

Jasper hasn’t brought the topic of escape up with the doctor and he doesn’t intend to do so. There’s too many eager ears and sharp eyes, but he likes to think the man would help them. Perhaps not out of the good of his own heart, but to protect himself. Jasper wouldn’t judge him for it, that’s just life on the ground.

Survive.

That’s all they have to do. All they need to do. If they manage? Well, then you can start thinking about living. Getting there will be tough, however.

He’s on his way down yet another hallway in the metal maze of the fallen Alpha Station. The ground is harsh and vicious, with a temperament shown through fickle weather and numerous diseases. Looking back on it, the delinquents had been lucky. They’d landed on the ground with so few supplies that they had had to adapt. Had to make shelter out of the broken dropship and to survive off the land.

The Arkers who survived the fall still clings to their old lives; to their old comforts of warm water and air-conditioned rooms. Their bodies are unused to the rapid shifts in temperature that comes with life on the ground. Unprepared for the bite of the wind as it howls through the previously airtight space station.

They’re ill.

And Jasper has to tell them there’s not enough medicine for them. That there’s no extra rations just because you get sick, because the sick can’t contribute to Arkadia. It’s not a job he relishes, but it does provide him a perfect opportunity to speak with a lot of people without being suspicious.

He knocks gently on the door in front of him. Even if he doesn’t like these people, and even if they do not feel like  _ his _ people any more, that doesn’t mean Jasper has anything against them. They treat him well enough, so he’ll extend them the same courtesy.

The door slides open and Jasper begins his well-rehearsed speech. “Hi there, I’m from Medical. I’m sorry to be the o-” A strong hand latches on to Jasper’s arm and he’s yanked into the small apartment none too gently.

“Shut up, we don’t have much time.” The hushed words are rushed, energetic and excited, but incredibly worrying, because Jasper finds himself standing face to face with a Council member. Marcus Kane, the man who had sent them all to the ground.

“S-sir?” Jasper tries to keep the nerves to a minimum, attempting to hide behind a veneer of respect for authority.

“When you leave… My people want in.” The words are determined, but the subtle shake of Kane’s hands gives away his anxiety. His eyes constantly scan their surroundings for threats, and Jasper wonders if that’s what he himself looks like these days.

“Sir? What are you talking about?” Might as well try playing dumb, though it’s clear that Kane already knows he’s up to something.

Kane’s amused laugh shakes a little at the edges, but seems genuine enough. “You and Green, you’re not as subtle as you think. You were always together, so tightly knit that I thought you might have been together. I know there’s no chance in hell Monty Green wouldn’t have told you about his escape.” He levels Jasper with a knowing look. “An escape I saw happen, how they had been ready to run for several minutes but they were standing around waiting. Waiting for you, who I later found under guard in Medical.”

“So no, Mr. Jordan, you’re not as subtle as you might have hoped, but you have nothing to worry about from me. I’ve been trying to reign in the Council, even tried to get them to see sense and open trade with the Grounders, but they don’t want to listen. I want to protect my people, just like I think you want to protect yours. I want to get us out of here.”

They stand there in silence for a moment, both aware that their time is running out fast.

“How can I trust you?” Kane already knows too much, might as well give the man a chance.

“I.. I don’t think you can, I’ve made too many bad decisions. If it helps, I’m willing to do whatever you need to get our people free. I know you have plans, and they must be happening soon with how jittery you’ve been looking the past few days.”

_ Fuck. _

“Tomorrow. The distractions have already been arranged, but if you can keep the Council busy that would help.” Jasper swallows hard around a lump in his throat, afraid this will backfire on him. “You already know we’re planning something, so fuck it. If you want anyone to get out, they have to be at the cooking fires by lunch. And, they have to be willing to obey the laws of the Grounders’ coalition. We follow Clarke and she wants us to follow their laws.”

Kane looks relieved at the news, though puzzled. “Clarke’s back? Wait never mind, fine, that’s good. Speak with Jackson. He’s with me and he wants to help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that happened…👀
> 
> Can’t wait to see what you all think!


	23. Ch 23 - Activation Sequence Initiated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke worries about Madi’s safety before she leaves for Arkadia, and asks Lexa for a small favour; to look over Madi in her absence.

“Jasper?”

Harper’s hesitant whisper comes through the grate only slightly distorted. Jasper steps a little closer, afraid to be seen even in the darkness of the early morning.

“I’m here. Is everyone ready?”

Jasper knows he sounds hopeful — perhaps too hopeful — but the thought of finally getting out of Arkadia has him in better spirits than usual. Still, he’s taken every precaution that he can think of to avoid being detected on his trip to speak with Harper. If Kane had noticed something up with Jasper, then he needs to be more careful.

“It’s going to be tight.” Harper’s reply is slow, fearful of being overheard. “Monroe and a few of the others are sick. We’ve been giving them our rations.” Her stomach rumbles deeply at the thought.

“Shit. Can you still get them to the campfire later?” Jasper has to ask, though he’s not happy with the implications of not getting them here.

“We have to, don’t we?”

Jasper nods, only catching himself after a few moments of awkward silence. “Yeah, we only get one shot at this…” He shakes the desolate thoughts off before continuing. “Kane, the Councilman, pulled me aside earlier tonight…”

“Fuck. What’d he want?”

“He knows.. But, he wants in. Said he was worried about some of ‘his’ people. I’m not sure, but I couldn’t turn him down. He al-”

“Jesus Jasper, you can’t just risk us like this!” Harper’s outrage interrupts Jasper mid-sentence. “What if it’s a trap, Jasper? What then? You said it yourself, we only get one shot at this…” Her passionate words slowly dull with the realisation that they might not make it out, that they might wake to find themselves under guard in a cell.

“Harper, please, calm down. I didn’t tell him everything, only where to bring his people!” Jasper hurries to explain. “I told him to meet us at the campfires near the gate around noon, that’s all. He promised to try and distract the Council, and he seemed happy when I mentioned that we’ll be following Grounder law because of Clarke.”

“Still.. I don’t like it. It’s too risky.” Harper all but whispers.

“I know, I know. Kane told me to speak with Dr. Jackson, said he’d help. It could be just what we need, especially with some of ours being sick.” Jasper nods to himself in the darkness, knowing Harper can’t see. “Clarke might have trained with her mother, but she can only do so much. Monty wrote that she’s secured an alliance with the Grounders, so there’ll be help there too, but it’ll be much easier if we don’t have to rely on their help all the time.”

“True. Anyway, I better get back to my tent. Here’s the final list of everyone I’ve told about our escape.” She shoves the small scrap of paper through the opening in the grate. “Miller decided to join us, but now that you’ve mentioned Kane knowing, I bet you his father is leaving too.”

It makes sense, and probably explains how Kane was so certain they’re going to be leaving. Jasper wants to shake himself at the oversight, but it’s too late. The information has already gotten out and now they just have to see how it all ends up.

“Alright, thanks Harper. All the distractions are ready, so there’s nothing we can do for now.” Jasper turns to leave, but remembers a small request from Monty.

“He misses you too, you know?” His smile is evident in his voice. “I know he’s been busy, but every message asks if you’re okay and if you’re eating enough.”

Jasper can’t see it, but the slight hitch in Harper’s breathing is more than enough to know she’s blushing. His friends had gotten rather close in the Mountain, but Monty had decided to distance himself from the other delinquents to protect them after the Mountain; after Clarke did what she had to.

“See you later Harper, get some sleep.”

He turns to move quietly back down the maintenance shaft, smiling as he hears Harper whisper to herself in the quiet of the night.

“I miss him too.. So much.”

Jasper’s not the only one with something to gain from this, and if he can help his friend find happiness, then why shouldn’t he?

————

Clarke gives the guard by the door a simple nod in greeting as she approaches.

“I’m here to see Heda.”

She doesn’t elaborate, instead choosing to wait for Lexa’s answer to her request.

The permission is quickly granted, and Clarke is allowed entry into the surprisingly small town house. She had thought Heda would have some ostentatious dwelling in the major towns, like the stories of old Earth said leaders always have. It’s a pleasant surprise to be shown the narrow two-story house off in a well-defended part of TonDC. It’s near Indra’s house actually, but slightly smaller.

_ Perhaps it’s just reserved for important guests? _

Clarke is shaken from her thoughts when the door opens and the fierce, yet kind, face of Ryder is revealed. A quick nod of respect to her former bodyguard, and Clarke is moving through the doorway with Madi following closely behind.

“Klark? Did something happen?” Lexa’s worried voice is followed by a face free from war-paint. She looks relaxed, unburdened. Something hard and tight unfurls a little within Clarke at the sight of Lexa being, well, Lexa.

“I need a favour.” Lexa’s relaxed face quickly starts to tighten and smooth back into the implacable mask of Heda, and Clarke hurries to explain, not liking the thought of adding burdens to Lexa again. “It’s a small one, I promise. I just.. I don’t want to bring Madi to Arkadia. It’s too dangerous for her.”

Clarke’s pleased to see that Lexa’s features have relaxed a little again, and she gestures down at the wolf by her side.

“I’ve already explained the dangers to her, but I’m wondering if you could look after her? I know what you said about her being my weakness, but I can’t bring her into danger like that. I can’t.” Clarke pleads with Lexa, not stopping the need to keep Madi safe from entering her voice.

Surprise flickers across Lexa’s form for a moment, before she motions for Clarke and Madi to follow her deeper into the house. Lexa takes a seat on a comfortable and well-worn brown sofa, letting out a sigh of comfort.

“Why me, Klark? I’m surprised you would trust me with Madi’s safety?” Lexa sounds resigned to the fact.

“Lexa, I..” Clarke’s hesitation is clear for all to see, and Madi even flicks an inquisitive glance at her, before fixing the comfortable sofa with a yearning look. “You wouldn’t hurt her.” Clarke sounds oddly sure of herself. “I can’t explain it. I don’t trust you, not yet, but with Madi? There’s no hesitation.. It’s like I know you wouldn’t harm her? It’s so strange..”

“Perhaps it’s the vow I took..” Lexa speaks more to herself than Clarke, while patting the sofa beside her unconsciously, having seen Madi’s longing. Lexa looks back up at Clarke. “As Heda, I took a vow to protect the Nightbloods with my life. I can’t harm them Klark; Heda would kill me if I tried.” Lexa looks down at Madi with the softest expression Clarke can remember seeing on her face, but one she expects was mirrored during their kiss.

_ OK, where did that thought come from? Focus, Clarke. _

“Heda and Wanheda are supposed to be connected, so perhaps it is that you can feel?”

Clarke stays quiet for a moment, observing how quickly Madi settles against Lexa, not at all intimidated by the leader of the twelve clans. Her decision is made for her when Madi gives her a lazy smile.

“Maybe. I’m starting to learn to trust my instincts, so I’m following that and trusting you with her. Will you please look after her?” Purple eyes lock with bright forest-green, understanding and promise flowing between them.

“I swear to you, Klark kom Skaikru, that nothing shall befall her in your absence.” The oddly formal words are accompanied by a momentary change in Lexa’s eyes, briefly blazing the fierce orange of Heda. Relief settles like a comfortable cloak around Clarke as she gives Madi a smile.

“I’ll be back tonight, promise. Please stay safe, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” The last words come out in a huff of amusement, truly hoping Madi behaves.

Clarke turns back to the door, stopping briefly in a mimicry of Lexa’s exit a few days earlier. Head turning over her shoulder to lock with green. “Thank you, Lexa. Truly.”

She lets the door close quietly behind her, setting a swift pace towards Nyko’s house. She needs to meet with Monty and Raven, before they set off towards Arkadia. With Raven’s leg and Monty’s still-healing wound, Clarke would rather not bring them, but they’re necessary if she wants to carry out the plan. Nyko opens the door for Clarke before she even gets close, greeting her warmly.

She’s led to the small dining room, filled to capacity with people. Clarke looks around, first meeting the gazes of Monty and Raven, before moving over the few warriors that have volunteered to help them get their people back. Alexis and Lincoln, two of Heda’s best scouts; Nyko himself, one of TonDC’s most experienced healers, as well as three other warriors that Clarke hasn’t been introduced to yet, but whose faces radiate confidence. She gives each of them a warm smile and a soft nod in thanks, before steeling herself for what’s to come.

“Alright, here’s what we’re going to do...”

————

The door closes softly behind Clarke as she leaves, and Lexa is left honestly thankful for the distraction of caring for Madi. She hates being sidelined and unable to help, but in this case Lexa is helping her people by not getting involved. By not showing her face.

Protecting one of her Nightbloods is an acceptable alternative, and protecting Madi most certainly is. She’d promised, after all, and not just to Clarke.

_ “Madi?” _ Lexa might as well try and figure out how much Madi has been told. She’ll need to know sooner or later.

The wolf slowly uncurls from her comfortable position, looking up at Lexa with a question in her eyes.

_ “It’s been, what, two weeks since your change?” _ She casts a significant glance at Madi’s brown fur, and is rewarded with a slow nod and a tilted head in reply.

Lexa hesitates for a moment, before reaching out with a steady hand to stroke Madi’s fur. There’s no threatening behaviour from the wolf pup, so Lexa takes it as a good sign and finally gives in to the protective urges that have run through her since learning of Madi’s true nature.

_ “It’s normal. It took me nearly a full moon to be able to change back.” _ Lexa giggles softly at the memory, letting it fully immerse her.  _ “I nearly drove Anya crazy with my antics. I was a little older than you are, nearly five, when it happened. I ended up shedding hair all over our travelling gear, and Anya would say that she still found my hairs in her travel furs even after I became Heda.” _

The soft smile turns a little wistful at the memory of her mentor, knowing she would likely never see her again. Skaikru had shot her, and while the body had never been found, Clarke had brought her Anya’s braid.

Madi butts her head against Lexa’s hand, demanding she move it to a better spot for scratching, and at the same time pulling Lexa from her spiralling memories.

_ “You’ll be able to control the change soon, little one. Did your mother or Kiun ever tell you about it?” _ Lexa’s eyes widen slightly, before Madi even has a chance to shake her head.

_ What if Aiwen never told her? And, Kiun never asked me... _

_ “I can teach you about the change, if you want?” _ The expected nod comes quickly, allowing Lexa to move on to what’s currently consuming her.  _ “Madi, did your mother — did Aiwen — ever tell you about your family?” _

Having a one-sided conversation with a wolf is surprisingly difficult, and Lexa wishes — not for the first time — that she could understand Madi and the other Nightbloods without changing herself. It’s an energetic process that usually leaves her exhausted and naked; any clothes worn during the process are simply shredded.

There’s a feeling of confusion and desire for knowledge flowing from Madi, though, which is what assures Lexa that she’s making the right decision. That she’s honouring her vow.

“You never met him, Madi, but I knew your grandfather. He was a wise and strong man; he taught me so, so much of what I know. I’m not actually sure your mother ever knew, because he sent her away to Louwoda Kliron Kru soon after her birth. Your grandmother went with her, to raise her in secret.”

She’s got Madi’s undivided attention now, and Lexa allows her favourite persona to slide over her features. One she only ever lets out with her Nightbloods in the safety of her tower in Polis, but one that Madi deserves in this moment. She becomes a storyteller, ready to tell all that she and Heda both know of Heda Hanbin kom Trikru, Lexa’s predecessor. Within her, Heda warms as the remnants of Hanbin pushes to the forefront.

“Well then, little one, I’ll tell you everything I remember about him…”

————

The piercing sound of the siren comes to an abrupt halt, causing Jasper to relax a little. Around him, the other delinquents also seem to relax at the momentary peace, while the small group of Ark adults have to be placated by Councilman Kane.

Jasper is pleasantly surprised by the man’s fortitude. He really came through for them, and Jasper is happy not to have been betrayed. Yet, at least.

The sudden silence is gone as fast as it came, as a static crackling begins to sound from the public announcement system strung up all over Arkadia, one of the few tasks Raven had been excited to do before their escape.

Even though Jasper knows what it means, he’s not prepared for the voice that echoes through the camp; the voice he knows echoes throughout every single room of the fallen Ark, and through every connected radio. Jasper isn’t prepared for the intense sense of déjà vu that makes him shiver violently, memories flashing to a similar situation inside Mt. Weather.

**“This is Clarke Griffin.”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay and smaller size of this chapter!
> 
> My story for Clextober truly clung to my brain like cotton candy, simply refusing to let go. So I had to write that, and if you’ve seen it, you know it’s far larger than my usual chapters. I… kind of didn’t finish this chapter by the time the weekend came around, and then work caught up with me yesterday.
> 
> Sat down to finish it today, only to realise I didn’t like any of what I’d written so all the scenes were moved back to WIP, and I started over. That’s why this is much shorter than usual, I didn’t want you to have to wait until the weekend. As a bit of an apology, I put in some fluff between Lexa and Madi and tried to keep the potential cliffhangers to a minimum.
> 
> Next chapter will be the actual escape attempt from Arkadia, hopefully all in once chapter. :)
> 
> Hope you’re all staying safe and sound in these trying times ❤️


	24. Ch 24 - Power Down, Lights Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monty and Raven set up a command-centre, while Clarke makes her way into Arkadia to deal with some loose ends.

“Alright, here’s what we’re going to do...”

————

The room descends into silence as Monty finishes outlining the plan, having taken over from Clarke early on.

“Simple, right?” Monty chuckles awkwardly to himself.

It’s Lincoln that breaks the tense silence, voice steady and sure. “Things are not as you had anticipated, but it will work.” With a flick of his hand, he indicates Monty and Raven. “You expected Jasper to be here, but since he is still inside Arkadia, we will need to adjust.”

“You’re right. Jasper has a tablet just like this.” Monty motions at the metallic gadget in his other hand. “He’ll be able to stay in touch without needing one of the radios.”

At her cue, Raven pulls out three walkie-talkies, similar to the one Clarke had used during the assault on the Mountain. “I took these babies for ‘maintenance’ back in Arkadia. I put them on a secure channel, and there’s no way in hell anyone can listen in.”

The grin that Raven is wearing honestly scares Clarke a little. The woman is just a little unhinged when it comes to technology, and Clarke is certain that Raven has a bunch of explosives packed away as well. Who knows why she thought it necessary when escaping, but it might come in handy.

“I’m going in.” Clarke states it like a fact, brooking no argument. “And you’re staying at the bunker.” She holds up a hand at Raven’s indignant expression. By Monty’s nod, he’s already sussed out her reason. “You’re injured. Don’t look at me like that, Raven, you know you shouldn’t be running around in the forest at all. I’ll help you with your injury as soon as I can, I promise.”

Clarke hates having to make promises that she can’t guarantee, but she has to. She doesn’t want to ever be like her mother; doesn’t want to force Raven into a life of chronic pain, numbed by too-strong painkillers in order to function. Clarke will do her absolute best, and she knows someone who might just be able to help. Soon.

“Monty’s wound is still healing, and I don’t want to put either of you in danger. We’ll split up in two groups; Alexis, Lincoln and I are going to Arkadia, while the rest of you will stay by the bunker I showed Monty.” Clarke turns her gaze back to Raven, who seems to be considering her words more carefully. “Will the radios work with that distance?”

Raven could lie, of course. She had insisted on her importance at the assault on Mt. Weather; had even gone to the dam in person to disable the turbines, despite her injuries. However, Raven’s resigned, yet determined, body language gives away the truth before she even opens her mouth.

“Yes.” A pause. “… you’re right. I wouldn’t be much help in Arkadia; might even slow you down.” Raven’s frown smooths out before curling up in a self-satisfied smirk. “But if you’re going to Arkadia, then I think you need to go as yourself. Red hair really isn’t your colour, and honesty...” The smirk grows to a full blown grin as Raven exaggeratedly sniffs the air.

“You stink, Griffin. When was the last time you had a bath?”

————

Raven might have had a point. The river is icy and causing Clarke to shiver violently, but the feeling of finally getting clean is unlike anything. The red dye clings to her hair, unwilling to part with her. Clarke’s reluctant too, it almost feels like letting go of a new identity; like she’s giving up on safety and anonymity, as much as her glowing eyes ever give her anyway.

It’s absolutely worth it to get clean. Clarke hadn’t even recognized the smell wafting from herself, but with it gone, it’s like she can finally breathe freely again. She promises herself to bathe more often, though preferably with warm water.

Pulling on her still-warm armour, Clarke wrinkles her nose at the residual smell coming off it. Clearly more than just herself will need to be washed to truly get rid of it.

_ Madi probably needs a good scrub too.. _

————

The trip to Arkadia goes smoothly, with the group setting a much faster pace than Monty and Raven had been capable off after their night in the bunker. Lincoln leads the way, scouting ahead for any threats at the same time.

They arrive in the mid-morning, sun still hanging low on the horizon, but everyone is aware of the building pressure and tension. It’s a slow and insidious thing, growing between them like a rapidly widening ravine.

Nyko refuses to be cooped up inside the small bunker, but Monty quickly shimmies down the hatch and into the underground shelter, emerging soon after with an extension cable and a quickly muttered explanation of expansive battery banks within. No risk of their tablets running out of power.

“Alright. We’ll head off to Arkadia now. Get set up and let us know over the radio as soon as you’re connected.” Clarke cuts through Monty and Raven’s technical ramble, as they rush to connect the large antennae from Monty’s backpack to their tablets and radio.

Raven presses one of the radios into Clarke’s hand, giving her an unreadable but intense look. “Get our people out of there, you hear me?”

There’s nothing more to be said, so Clarke nods before turning to Lincoln. The moment he’s got a radio in hand, she beckons for Alexis to join them, before the trio head off into the forest.

————

Kane waits patiently for Abby to finish her daily briefing. It’s terrifying how the woman can shift between the competent, reliable, leader and the somewhat chaotic person that he’s witnessed more than once; the persona that seems to believe that violence is the only way forward, and who won’t hesitate to do anything to get her way.

He has to play his cards carefully, slowly. Unfortunately for Kane, time is not something he has a lot of. He checks his watch again, squirming in his seat. A few amused glances land on him, used to this behaviour during boring meetings.

Abby doesn’t seem amused when she catches it, however, but an understanding expression nonetheless flits across her features. She sighs. A deep, heartfelt, sound that makes Kane slightly ashamed for his actions. His betrayal. It’s almost like she’s his friend again, when she’s like this. But, Kane knows better. Has seen how Abby has changed over the years.

“Do you need a moment, Kane?” Abby even sounds amused, causing the tendril wound around his heart to tighten just a bit further.

“I’m sorry, Abby, but I think we’ve run a little over time. I promised to go speak with some of our people over lunch. Would it be alright to finish this afterwards?” He hopes his voice sounds the right amount of disinterested and bored, but just stressed enough that he comes across as worried about missing another meeting.

As one of the few remaining original council-members, Kane knows he’s given more leeway than the others, but Abby trusts him less. He did try to have her floated, back in space, and sometimes he wonders how things would be going if Jaha hadn’t stopped him.

_ If only Callie hadn’t gotten herself caught… I miss you. _

But, the lack of trust is nothing if not predictable. Sometimes being vague with the truth is more than enough to get away from Abby.

“Sure. Be sure to let me know what they think of our recent improvements.” She commands, barely looking up from her tablet to give her approval. “I need to speak to our newer members anyway.”

Kane scoffs to himself. Abby has picked the new members from the survivors of the Ark; loyal to her for the prestige of the position, and more lately the increased rations for them and their families. Nothing but bribes.

“I think I’ll join you, if you don’t mind?” a voice interrupts Kane’s thoughts, coming from right beside him. Jacopo Sinclair stares down at him with barely hidden mirth.

Kane doesn’t reply, but gestures for Sinclair to go ahead. Together the two men step out of the meeting room, moving slowly — uncaring — down the hallway, until the hiss of the closing door dies down. They share a quick look, before rushing towards Medical. It’s almost noon.

————

The branch underneath Clarke is uncomfortable, but she doesn’t dare move. Doesn’t dare think of anything but observing the metallic village ahead of her. Alexis, Lincoln, and Clarke are all sitting in a tree at the edge of the forest near Arkadia, waiting impatiently for Raven’s signal.

Clarke keeps fiddling with the thin wire leading to the headset Raven had given her. It’s uncomfortable and makes the inside of her ear itch, but Clarke knows it’s the best option if she wants to listen in, while sneaking through Arkadia.

There’s nothing for anyone else to hear, but Clarke’s headset crackles for a moment, before Monty’s calm voice practically whispers into her ear. “Jasper’s just messaged. They’re ready, and the first distraction is set to go off in a second. Kane has managed to get the Council together, so they shouldn’t be a problem.” Clarke can practically hear the smirk in his voice, and okay, maybe he deserves it.

The explosion catches her off-guard, just as Monty’s quiet “Go! I’m locking it down.”

Clarke spends a moment to exchange a loaded glance with both Alexis and Lincoln; her backup, should she need them. Then, Clarke drops from the branch with barely a sound, landing on the soft grass in a crouch.

She’d chosen to go alone due to her increased speed, but as the tall electric fence gets nearer, Clarke feels the doubt closing in on her.

“I’m at the fence.” She whispers quietly into the mouthpiece.

“They should be offline. The explosion was set at some of the solar panels. Raven says the system is in emergency mode; essentials only.” He pauses, before muttering darkly. “Meaning only for security, medical, and the Council areas.”

Clarke doesn’t need to respond, and she’s too busy moving down the fence to the section that Raven had made a hole in. With the directions that she’d been given, it doesn’t take long to find the loose panel. It swings up with minimal prompting.

It’s a matter of moments before Clarke finds herself inside Arkadia. She starts moving towards the entrance to the maintenance duct, but only manages a few steps before a siren starts blaring, causing Clarke to curse quietly.

“Sorry Clarke, that’s the next distraction. Nothing to worry about.” Monty sounds apologetic, and he should be.

“A warning next time, please.” She bites out, not truly angry but too stressed to care about the harsh inflection.

————

The explosion causes Kane and Sinclair to break into a run, uncaring of who might see them. There’s nothing on the speakers, and Kane doesn’t know why. The technicians in the control room should have called for security already, but, Kane reminds himself, they might have used the secure radios to prevent panic from spreading.

From the looks of it, it’s not much help though, as panicked faces stare out of half-opened doors at them as they rush by.

Medical, it turns out, is empty. Jackson isn’t there. That could be either very good, or very bad. There’s nothing they can do now, and the bag Kane remembers Jackson preparing is gone. He and Sinclair sprint towards the main entrance of the Ark, knowing they’re running out of time.

They make it outside just as a piercing siren starts blaring. The heavy door slowly closes behind them. Kane stops and watches as Sinclair looks at it with an admiring expression; it’s odd, and Kane doesn’t really understand it.

“Hard seal. How the hell did they manage to get a hard seal with all the dirt here?!”

“We cleaned it.” Jasper’s anxious — but strangely certain — voice rings out near them, clearly close enough to have heard Sinclair. The confusion on his face is clear as day, but Jasper gives them both a steely look before looking towards a mass of anxious people sitting by the cooking fires.

Right. They’d discussed this. Or rather, Jasper had told Kane what to do, without actually saying what would happen. The kid is sneaky.

“Everyone calm down! There’s been an accident, and the automated systems are making sure it’s safe for everyone.” The calming words flow from Kane with practised ease, his years as a member of the council being put to good use.

He hadn’t been able to tell his people anything, unwilling to risk anything, and had instead explained their lunch outing as a way to come together as a group. A way for those he trusts to come together and work on improving Arkadia.

A white lie, but not altogether untruthful. He does want them to come together.

Kane guides them back around the fires, observing his surroundings while he does so. The fence is barely guarded, he already knows, having sent the majority of the Guard off to the training grounds on the other side of Arkadia, where there is less chance of being spied on. A defensive nightmare, and one Kane hadn’t bothered to point out when some over-eager Guard members had insisted on it.

There’s only two members of the Guard present by the gate. It’s clear they’re both anxious about the explosion earlier, and the shrill scream of the siren isn’t doing anything to help calm them down. Kane can relate. Unfortunately, they’re well-trained, and haven’t abandoned their posts.

He gives a respectful nod in greeting, knowing his voice would get smothered by the alarm.

Suddenly, a deafening silence descends upon the crowd outside. Kane looks around wildly, trying to find the cause. He’s not fast enough, because soon after the sound he had expected earlier finally arrives. The public announcement system crackles as it turns on, and Kane expects Abby’s voice to ring out.

What he doesn’t expect is the voice that  _ does _ echo through the space enclosed by the tall electrified fence. He doesn't expect to see Jasper shiver violently, in spite of the hopeful smile that grows on his face.

**“This is Clarke Griffin.”**

————

Clarke rushes through the vents as fast as she can, hampered slightly by how tight and tense her shoulders feel. She can’t turn them properly, still rigid and stiff, but at least they don’t hurt any more. Her back has calmed down to nothing more than a slight itch that she barely even notices these days, but in moments like these, it comes back with a furious insistence.

Clarke struggles with the urge to reach back and scratch the sore area over her shoulder blades. Her shoulders are too stiff — she instinctively knows — to reach, even if she had the space to do so.

“All the outer doors are sealed. I left the maintenance hatches open, so you should be fine.” Monty’s voice shakes slightly with the excitement of his plan coming together, and Clarke feels pride welling up in her.

How he’d found the time, she’ll never know, but somehow he’d manage to hack Arkadia’s mainframe while living within its cold metallic embrace. A security flaw they’re now making full use of to get to their people.

Clarke is hidden above the entrance to the Armoury, listening to the panicked shouts of the guards on duty below. Clearly they’ve heard the doors sealing, and from the dull thudding, whoever is on the outside wants to get in.

_ Tough luck. _

Peeping through the ventilation holes in the cover, she can just barely make out the sight of two tall people wearing uniforms. The hats they wear obscures any identifying features, at least from Clarke’s angle in the ceiling.

Stretching to cling to the sides of the duct, Clarke coils her legs under herself, preparing to jump down. The hatch swings down unceremoniously, on its way to clatter against the metal wall.

Clarke follows down a beat later, swinging from the open hole legs first onto the shoulders of the first guard. The shock of the movement and added weight on his shoulders causes him to crash head first into the wall. Clarke squeezes her legs — and still hanging from the hole — twisting the man’s neck, until she can hear his spine crack.

Unfurling her legs, Clarke drops gracefully to the ground as the other guard stares at her in disbelief and horror. She acts on instinct, kicking out powerfully to catch the guard in the jaw; adrenaline preventing her from recognizing him.

Bellamy manages to get a single word out, before Clarke’s foot connects and he crashes to the ground, unconscious.

“Clarke?”

_ Well fuck. I don’t have time for this. _

Barely sparing a moment to check on her former friend, Clarke rushes into the Armoury; unlocked, thanks to Monty. The guy definitely deserves some praise after this.

The weapon cages on the walls are definitely emptier than she remembers, with only one automatic weapon left. Considering, she decides to pick it up. Clarke hates the metallic contraption with a deep, intense, fire. One she recognizes as hatred from prior experiences, through years and decades of war. Machines of slaughter. They’re tools, yes, but this is one tool that has been designed for death.

She pushes her personal feelings aside, slinging the weapon over her shoulder and grabbing a few loaded magazines.

Then, Clarke finally gets around to what she came to do. Raven had promised something to destroy the weapons, and looking down at the assortment of explosives she’d been given, Clarke has no doubt that they’ll do the job.

She scatters all but one throughout the small room. Stepping out, Clarke pulls the pin on the last grenade, held firmly in her hand. She turns back to look at the guards. Both on the ground, one dead and Bellamy unconscious.

Despite whatever Bellamy may have done, Clarke can’t leave him for dead like this. It would be dishonourable. She bends down, sliding an arm under his, and lifts him up into a half-standing stance. Her other arm flashes out, chucking the grenade firmly into the Armoury.

Clarke slams the security door as hard as she can while pulling Bellamy down the corridor and around the first corner. Around her, the siren has cut out in favour of a silence that Clarke hasn’t even noticed until now. It’s interrupted by a crackling from the speakers, before she hears the recording of her own voice playback.

**“This is Clarke Griffin.”**

Seconds later, the Armoury is ripped to pieces as her thrown fragmentation grenade causes half a dozen improvised high explosives to go off in a chain-reaction. Clarke’s shaken and thrown about by the force of the explosions, knocking her into the wall, despite the distance from the Armoury.

Ignoring the rapid-fire beating of her heart, Clarke straightens herself back up. She spares a brief moment to wonder about Bellamy, before Raven’s voice in her ear reminds her of their schedule.

Clarke leaves Bellamy behind. Unconscious, but alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No cliffhangers this chapter! Well, not what I’d consider a cliffhanger anyway! 
> 
> This is chapter is part one of the escape from Arkadia, and it will be done by the end of the next chapter. Speaking of which, the next chapter is going to be a little longer than this one, due in part to having less time this week, but also to avoid any potential cliffhangers.
> 
> Hope you’re enjoying this so far, and I’m looking forward to hearing what you think! :)


	25. Ch 25 - Fall of a Fortress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke continues to infiltrate Arkadia, having just blown up the Armoury. Raven brings her some surprising news that changes their plans slightly.
> 
> _  
> **Trigger Warning: Desiring/thinking of death as an escape from pain**  
> _

“Wick, I need you to finish repairs on that pod as soon as possible.”

“I know Mrs. Griffin — sorry, Chancellor — I’m doing my best, but without access to the Mountain, I don’t know if it’ll be possible to fix it. We only have the prototype..” Wick pauses in an attempt to come up with an alternative solution, but honestly there isn’t much he can do without the supplies. Even if they’d been back in orbit, Wick isn’t sure they’d be able to fix the pre-war technology. “How long do I hav-”

**“This is Clarke Griffin.”**

The broadcast over the public announcement system takes Wick off guard, as he’s supposed to be the only one with access to it; at least after Raven and Monty left. Glad for the reprieve from the uncomfortable conversation with Abby, yet still worried at the potential implications.

A myriad of expressions flicker across Abby’s face, far too fast to distinguish any one in particular. Wick wants to recoil at the way Abby’s eyes continuously shift between a soft, adoring, mien, and a much more flinty, aggressive countenance.

Abby opens her mouth, as if to bark out orders, but she doesn’t get the chance. An explosion sounds from within the fallen Alpha Station, deafening in its intensity. The metallic walls shake under the stress and tension, and the shock-wave knocks the wind from Wick's chest in a choking gasp, as he stumbles backwards against the wall.

**“You might have heard of me. The daughter of Abigail and Jake Griffin. The girl in solitary.”** Clarke’s voice fills the air in the aftermath of the explosion.  **“One of the one hundred children your Council sent to the ground to die.”**

A pregnant pause fills the air, and Wick risks a glance at Abby to see how she’s taking this unexpected turn of events. What he finds isn’t what he expected, as Abby has a few tears running down her cheeks, and seems to be muttering to herself under her breath.

**“Only, they didn’t have to.”** Clarke’s sure voice states it like a fact, and she sounds furious.

At this, Abby straightens back up with a panicked look settling onto her face. She rushes to the door of the Council chamber, only to find it locked shut. The button beside the door flashes an angry red when it’s pushed. Locked.

**“As you probably know by now, the Ark was dying. Air was running out, and there wasn’t much time left before it would be fatal.”** The statement is dangerously calm, and Wick knows things were bad in orbit. That they had to cull the population; Wick almost had to do it himself, but how would Clarke know that?

**“We were sent to the ground as canaries in a coal mine. If the ground was inhabitable, most everyone on the Ark would be killed to preserve a core group of survivors. If we somehow, miraculously, were to survive, it would mean that everyone could join us on the ground.”**

Wick’s eyes flicker between the ceiling, where the speakers are located, and Abby, who stands stock-still by the door. The emotions seem to have fled the woman entirely, looking almost frozen in time as she stares unseeingly at the metal door.

**“Except, the Chancellor knew. Jaha knew for more than a year.”** Clarke is heard taking a deep breath, before continuing in a quiet drawl.  **“My father, Jake Griffin, discovered the flaw with the life-support systems on the Ark more than a year before we were sent to the ground.”**

Understanding begins to settle within Wick. The Council had known, and hadn’t done anything about it. He’s one of their engineers, and he would have known; Sinclair would have wanted all hands on deck, which must mean Sinclair had been kept out of the loop.

**“He wanted to tell everyone. Get people to ration and shut down non-essential areas. He wanted people to work together to fix the problem.”** A harsh bark of laughter. **“Instead, my mother had him floated. Had me put into Solitary, so I wouldn’t tell anyone. And then? Then she sent me to die on the ground, pretending she wasn’t guilty of any of those things.”**

“Get this door open. Now.” Abby’s back in motion, pacing in front of the door. Her face remains blank, but her shoulders are coiling with tension. The click of her shoes on the metal floor is too precise, too rhythmic, to be anything but a practised response.

Wick doesn’t want to be on the bad side of this woman, knowing full well how scary she can be when angered. Instead, he takes a step closer, and with a carefully outstretched arm, gestures at the badge at her side.

“As the Chancellor, you should be able to override any lock-down. Locally, at least. You should just need to swipe your card and enter your code, if it’s anything like how Sinclair’s Chief Engineer badge works.”

That seems to be enough to snap Abby out of it, and it only takes her a moment to unlock the door and come face to face with two of her personal guards.

“What the hell is going on?” She spits out the demand for information, practically biting off the end of the sentence in her hurry.

“We don’t know ma’am. The radio seems to be down, as we can’t reach anyone.

————

Clarke carefully navigates the once-familiar corridors of the fallen space station, feeling slightly nostalgic as memories of her father are teased forward by her own words playing through the speakers.

_ If only you could see us now, Dad… _

Jake would be in awe at the ground and the riches it offers. At the taste of the fresh air in the morning, and the feeling of leaves brushing against bare arms as you run through the forest.

_ You’d love the ground, Dad, but I think you’d hate what we’ve become. _

Rounding the corner, Clarke quickly unlatches the maintenance hatch at floor level, one of many entrances to the complicated network of ducts travelling throughout Arkadia. Largely unknown by most people who had lived on the ark for most of their lives, but Clarke had grown up exploring them with her dad. Had grown to love the sense of space and privacy they brought.

_ I miss you. So, so, much. _

The airlock door had closed in between them with a heavy sort of finality. A dull thud that tore a hole in Clarke’s heart, one that’s still there. They had locked eyes, and as the memories replay, Clarke could see the acceptance and love reflected in Jake’s eyes as Jaha hit the button. Had seen how, even as the air left the airlock, Jake had tried to say something while looking directly at her. Had mouthed words that Clarke will carry with her forever.

_ “I love you, kid-” _

“Clarke, I think you need to hear this.”

Raven’s anxious voice pulls her back from the abyss of that particular memory, before it turns from the loving words to watching her dad be ejected from the Ark. Thankful for the distraction, Clarke clicks her radio to acknowledge that she’s listening.

“I..” Raven sounds so uncertain and hesitant that alarms instantly go off within Clarke. “Did Lexa ever mention anyone going missing?” A beat of silence. “After the mountain, I mean.”

Clarke stops her careful walk through the cramped space, looking around her to check for any vents that could give away her location if she speaks up. There’s nothing.

“No, she didn’t mention anything. What’s going on?” She whispers into the microphone clipped to her collar.

“When Monty activated his virus to get access to the Ark systems, we suddenly got access to the surveillance of an area I’ve never seen. According to the records, it’s limited exclusively to the Chancellor..” Clarke just wants Raven to get to the point, but needs to just wait her out, knowing she might speak over whatever point Raven might be trying to make, otherwise.

“There’s a prisoner, Clarke. A grounder..” Haltingly, Raven finally gets the words out, sounding almost as if she doesn’t believe them herself.

“Fuck. Who is it?” Clarke’s eyes widen minutely. “Doesn’t matter. Lincoln, if you’re listening I’m going to need your help. We’re getting whoever it is out.”

“I don’t know who it is, Clarke. There are no files on her, and I can only barely make out her armour from this piece of shit camera.”

“Alright. I’ll meet up with Lincoln, and then you’ll guide us to that cell.”

Clarke turns back around, moving towards the entrance to the maintenance network she had come through just a little earlier.

————

**“My father, Jake Griffin, discovered the flaw with the life-support systems on the Ark more than a year before we were sent to the ground.”**

The crowd is dead silent, listening intently to Clarke’s revelations. They’re watching a web of lies and deceit being unwound before their very eyes, most of them never having heard any of this before.

Most of the delinquents didn’t even know that Clarke’s father had known about the problem, most didn’t even know he’d been floated. It’s hard to notice the absence of someone so high above you in the social ranks, especially when it’s someone in a position that isn’t very public.

Jasper turns slowly to take in everyone around him, keeping a keen eye out for the guards still standing watch by the gate. They’d all been shocked by the muted explosion from the other side of Arkadia, but Jasper is the only one with an idea of what caused it. He’s not going to tell anyone that Clarke just blew up the armoury.

The guards might not take that well. Not with how their hands are already hovering anxiously by the pistols at their waits; and especially not with how their sharp gazes scan everything for a potential threat.

The large gathering by the fire pits is an obvious one, and Jasper had anticipated it. They’re sitting as spread out as they can, limited to small groups around each fire, but in an interesting twist, it’s not Jasper’s preparations that make the guards ignore them.

It’s Kane and Sinclair. The addition of two members of the Council, and the group of adults seems to have shaken the suspicion from the guards eyes. It’s a temporary truce at best, but there’s nothing he can do about it. Not yet, at least.

**“He wanted to tell everyone. Get people to ration and shut down non-essential areas. He wanted people to work together to fix the problem.”**

Jasper winces at Clarke’s harsh bark of laughter. She might be right, but she’s not exactly sounding too friendly with this lecture; Jasper really would like to avoid any more suspicious glances.

_ She should be here soon. _

Jasper gets up, locking eyes with Dr. Jackson, and nodding at a spot a few paces away. Can’t go too far, but talking with his employer shouldn’t be suspicious. Nobody pays them any mind, so he mentally pats himself on the back for choosing Jackson over Kane.

“First of all, thank you.” So sue him, he likes Jackson. “I wasn’t sure anyone would want to help.” An apologetic smile pulls at Jasper’s features as he shrugs. As inconspicuously as possible, Jasper nods towards the adults and delinquents slowly mixing together around the fires. There’s no need to explain why they would need anything; their thin features and tired expressions say more than Jasper could ever express with words.

“Food. That’s the most important one, but we’re going to have to ration it, so nobody gets themselves sick from overeating.” Jackson frowns a little, squinting down at the medical bag by his side. “Medicine… I couldn’t take too much, we’re leaving a lot of people behind who also need it, and we don’t have much in the first place.”

“Monty said Clarke has worked out an agreement with the Commander. She’ll help us. They’ve been taking care of Raven, even if their painkillers aren’t as strong as ours.”

Jackson nods, his gaze absent. “That’s… That’s good.” Even his voice sounds absent.

“What’s wrong?”

The doctor keeps nodding, clearly lost in thought, and it’s not until Jasper repeats his question that Jackson snaps back to reality. “Sorry, I just realised something odd?” He asks, more than states. “When I was packing my bag, I realised the inventory didn’t match up.” Jackson looks to Jasper with a questioning glance. “Did you take anything?”

“Nope.” And for once, Jasper is telling the complete truth. “As I said, the Commander promised to take care of us, and we had already taken as much I dared when Monty and Raven made it out.”

“So that was you.”

Jasper feels the blush rise up his cheeks, and aggressively stamps it back down; attempts to harden his expression, as if to say ‘So what?’, but instead he voices the question they both share. “What was missing?”

“Sedatives. Nothing we’d prescribe to a patient, unless they were going into surgery.” He pauses. “Or, perhaps for use in the tranquillizer guns, but I didn’t think any of them survived the trip to the ground.”

They’re brought out of their musings due to the total silence that has descended back over the crowd. Clarke must have finished her speech.

“We need to get ready. Clarke will be here in a minute.” Jasper concludes, before seeking out, and joining, Harper in the surprisingly large crowd of people wanting to get out of Arkadia. “You ready?”

Harper looks exhausted and dead tired, but there’s a steely determination keeping her up. The late-night meetings and lack of food have clearly taken more out of her than she’d wanted to admit.

“I have to be.”

A shout rings out from one of the guards by the gate. The crowd turns as one to stare at him, as he continues shouting into a radio held in his hands.

Jasper attempts to suppress it, but the tiniest whisper of a smirk curls his lips. He and Monty had taken a page out of Mt. Weather’s playbook and decided to use Arkadia’s long-range radio to jam every frequency, except their own.

————

She’s floating.

There’s still pain. There always is, these days, but at least she’s floating.

**“This is Clarke Griffin.”**

It’s better than the empty and cold feeling she’d had earlier; far better than the painful stinging in her extremities as the cold seeped in through her armour.

She’s drifting.

She knows it, because that voice isn’t real. Can’t be real.

Everything spins and her thoughts are a scrambled mess; nothing like the ordered file and rank she had been so used to. Had she?

Been used to?

She doesn’t really know any longer. Hasn’t seen the sun in at least a week, but it could be two. Or a day.

She doesn’t know. Doesn’t remember.

Her limbs are sluggish, heavy with exhaustion despite their inactivity. The only thing she knows for certain is real, is the hunger gnawing at the empty hole that used to be her stomach.

When was the last time she ate?

What did she eat?

**“You might have heard of me. The daughter of Abigail and Jake Griffin.”**

No, she didn’t know that, actually. But she knows of Clarke, at least she thinks she does.

Blonde hair, deceptively soft and with an aura of fire. The fire is what she remembers most clearly, the haze of her mind lifting just enough to replay the horrible memories.

The whoosh as Clarke had activated their contraption, and the billowing smoke that filled the air and bit into her nose.

The screams of her people, her warriors, is what Anya remembers most clearly. They’re so clear, so perfectly captured, that she knows this is it. This is her time.

She’s about to join them.

**“We were sent to the ground as canaries in a coal mine-”**

What does that even mean? What are canaries? Of course Anya knows about coal, the sooty chunks that heats some of the homes in Polis and the other major towns, but it’s the mention of mines that have her tuning out again. Doesn’t want to go down those memories. Not the Maun-de.

She knows she’s drifting. Knows. Hates it.

There was a time she was in control of her own mind. Not anymore. Not with the sharp sting and soothing, overpowering, numbness that would follow.

Not with the way she’d been so cold and empty before.

“Then she sent me to die on the ground, pretending she hadn’t done any of those things.”

Sending Clarke to die on the ground? Anya would laugh if she had the energy, and if she remembered how to move her body properly. That girl doesn’t know how to die, that much had been made clear when Anya knew her.

It’s funny, actually, though Anya would never speak it out loud. Clark had reminded her so much of a younger Lexa. A more determined Lexa, before she had known loss.

Before her heart had grown cold and solid, shutting out her closest friends and confidantes.

If she’s dying, then dying to the memories of her Commander — her friend and former Seken — is much more preferable than memories of the accursed Mountain.

Anya can feel the weight on her limbs grow with every unaware breath. She’s already drifting, already floating, but somehow the darkness gets darker.

It coalesces around her, until finally, thankfully, Anya sees light around her.

————

The hallways of the Tower in Polis have always been too grand and ostentatious in Anya’s mind. Good thing Lexa’s ego isn’t so fickle as to fall prey to her own home. She’s strong and well aware of it, no doubt, but Anya knows Lexa’s pride is tempered by the spirit within her.

Heda had helped Lexa gain ultimate control over herself. Anya wasn’t there when the previous Commander died and Heda found Lexa, but she remembers the aftermath just fine.

The memory of Lexa’s glowing eyes and wondrous expression didn’t leave her for days. She’d speak to herself in a hushed whisper, learning and learning, until eventually she didn’t need to speak out loud.

But Heda isn’t the only reason behind Lexa’s strength and fortitude. No, that honour is shared with the tenacious girl usually found by Lexa’s side, Costia.

Anya allows a small smile to steal across her features, unseen in the dim light of the corridor this time of day. She wipes it away before getting close to the door, however. Wouldn’t do to let Lexa think she had a sense of humour.

The mirth, however, dies the moment Anya steps through the door to Lexa’s private chambers. She hadn’t known why her presence had been requested, only that Titus had come to her in a rush and said Lexa needed to speak with her.

She can see why.

Quietly, Anya takes in the sight of Lexa’s silent figure by the side of the bed. She’s cradling something gently to her chest as silent tears flow freely, illuminated by the rapidly dimming glow of her eyes. Unaware that she’s even moved, Anya wraps her arms around Lexa.

The moment her arms make contact, the silence is broken. The tears are replaced by broken sobs and interrupted words. Too low and too broken for Anya to make out, she looks down at the object clutched to Lexa’s chest.

In the flickering light cast by the candles around Lexa’s room, as well as the remaining glow from Lexa herself, Anya has to suppress a gasp. In Lexa’s grasp is Costia’s head, hair shaved off; eyes glassy and an expression of pain is frozen in place. The blood at the cut is red, dry, and final.

There’s nothing she can say. Nothing she can do to make it better, but Anya lets Lexa take what comfort she can. Lets her arms show the familiarity and love Anya doesn’t know how to express.

————

No…

Anya doesn’t want to remember that day. The day Heda’s light seemed to disappear from Lexa. It hadn’t even appeared when the problematic Skaikru had landed in their lands.

Lexa had frowned and spoken firmly with the determination expected of Heda. Demanded she investigate these invaders, but there had been no fire behind her words. Her eyes had been as flat and emotionless as ever.

But Anya is a warrior. She follows order and does not question her Heda. Not in public, and far less often after Costia.

————

The invaders, as it turns out, are hopelessly harmless. Well, aside from their apparent determination to go towards the Maun-de and the Reapers.

A few of them have some skill, especially with healing and the brewing of alcoholic concoctions, the sting of which can be smelled from afar.

Shelter? Too difficult to build.

Food? A few have been smart enough to lay down snares, but their work is shoddy and only catches a few small rabbits. The only true weapon they have, is a single fayagon.

It’s enough to cause Anya to be wary, which turns out to be a good thing.

The sky burns, again, and the crash of another metal contraption echoes throughout the forest. It’s the start of the worst time of Anya’s life.

The destruction of a village, even a small one due to the proximity to the Maun-de, is a terrible loss of life.

It only gets worse, and Lexa absolutely isn’t happy with her. Anya deserves it; she should have been better prepared for conflict.

————

If this is her end, she’ll do her best to meet it with her head held high. Anya will never admit it, and she doesn’t think she’ll have a chance to anyway, but she’s terrified at her failures.

She’s failed her people. Her family. Lexa.

Perhaps she deserves this.

Still, Anya can’t help but focus on fonder memories, happier moments. Ones that she’s carried locked deep within herself, only to be brought out on the rare day when she’s been able to drop the mask.

Anya is an only child, which is a rarity in itself. Most families know the risks of childhood, and even adulthood. They know the risk of living in Trikru, so close to the accursed Maun-de.

Her parents had tried to give her siblings, of course they had, but with no luck. And then they’d been taken by the Reapers, only a season after Anya herself had started training as a Seken at the age of six.

It marked the end of her childhood.

Instead, Anya grew familiar with the ways of the warriors. Made friends with her training sword and dagger, vowing vengeance upon the Reapers that had taken her family.

Natural talent and the intense desire for revenge drives Anya. She learns faster than her peers. Grows stronger, faster, and more knowledgeable in the arts of war.

Until, that is, her Fos decides he can no longer teach her. She’s too young to be a warrior herself, but words are exchanged and favours owed. And so, before Anya is even ten summers old, she’s brought to Polis.

A gleaming city, so modern and advanced compared to the Trikru village that Anya dimly remembers spending her childhood in, and even compared to the bigger cities she’s visited, like Drom.

Somehow, her Fos knew Heda, and Anya was allowed to train with the elite guard of Polis. Sometimes, she was even allowed to train with the Nightbloods.

For the first time in her life, Anya had people she dared to call friends.

————

Anya is fifteen, and long since a fully trained warrior, when she gets summoned by her Commander, by Heda.

She’s met him before, but always in a crowd; always with other people around. His presence alone is enough to make Anya both proud and terrified. A good man, and one who has been trying to unite the clans, but so far hasn’t been able to.

“Welcome, Onya.” Heda Hanbin’s Gonasleng is the smoothest Anya has ever heard, not a trace of stutter evident. “I require your word that this conversation never leave this room.” The flash of orange in the man’s eyes has Anya offering the vow faster than her brain can catch up.

She does not want to anger Heda, either the man or the spirit.

“I have an important task for you. Heda has chosen my successor.” The words are spoken with the same gravitas as Anya has heard him use before lighting pyres.

Her shock and confusion must be evident on her face, because Heda lightens up a bit, lips curling up into a smile that makes him seem five years younger.

“Worry not, it is not my time yet. It is unusual, yes, but Heda is certain. I want you to meet your new charge.”

The guards bring in a young Nightblood that Anya doesn’t recall having met before, with brown hair, green eyes and a lopsided smile.

“Onya, this is Lexa. Your new Seken.”

————

The memory warms her from the inside, and maybe this isn’t so bad. Maybe it isn’t the end?

————

Anya nods at Clarke, wondering at just how fierce the Skai girl looks in grounder clothes and covered in mud. If she didn’t know better, she could easily mistake the girl for Trikru.

Not a warrior, Clarke doesn’t have the definition to make the image stick, but a healer or crafter of some kind. Not a traditional leader, but then again, when is it traditional for people to fall from the sky?

In any case, Clarke is more reasonable than expected, and Anya can certainly work with her. Turning her back, she starts walking back to the cover of trees, eager to get away from the metal walls of the Skaikru village.

The bark of a fayagon precedes an infernal burning in her gut. Anya curses her weakness and the betrayal of the Skaikru, but the pain has sapped her of the remaining strength in her system after the fight with Clarke.

Clutching at her stomach, Anya barely registers the shouts and sounds of a struggle behind her, as she slides to the ground. It reaches up to her with familiar earthy arms and drags her into a dreamless darkness.

When Anya finally wakes up, the pain in her stomach is still there, but when she goes to move, she finds herself restrained. Steadily testing each bond one by one, Anya quickly realises she’s stuck. Without a knife, there’s no way for her to cut through these bonds.

“So, you know the Commander.”

The feminine voice catches her off guard, coming from just off to the side. How hadn’t she noticed anyone was with her in the room?

“I know you can speak English, so don’t bother pretending.”

There’s a manic glint in the woman’s eyes. Clarke must have betrayed her and turned her over to Skaikru as a prisoner. Reluctantly, Anya has to admit it’s the same plan she had had for Clarke. Doesn’t mean she’s not bitter about it, though.

“Hm. Silence it is. Doesn’t matter, I’m not in any rush.”

The woman moves forward with a metallic implement in her hand, with two hinged blades. She begins to struggle in her bonds, but freezes in place as a low chuckle rings from the woman.

A slender hand reaches out to Anya’s head, grasping at her braid. Pulling it taut, and then with a swish of the metallic implement that Anya now recognizes as scissors, cuts off the braid. Fear starts to curl low in her belly, around the wound that still pains her.

“Clarke was so sad to hear about your death. Said we needed to bring your braid to the Commander, as a peace offering.” The smile that greets Anya is warm and friendly, but the woman’s eyes are as cold and dark as the dungeons beneath Polis.

The woman moves around the small room, which Anya absently realises must be a cell, before coming closer with a syringe. Immediately, she’s flooded by memories of being brought into the Mountain, but there’s no red liquid.

She doesn’t get a chance to say anything, barely even manages to think it, before the needle sinks into her neck and everything goes dark again.

————

The clang of the cell-door unlocking, followed by the hiss of it sliding aside has Anya immediately aware of her surroundings.

_ Is this it? _

Will the woman be back to finish her off now? Anya still doesn’t know her name, but she seems oddly familiar.

She notices the silence first. The siren has stopped blaring a while ago, and the voice of Clarke is gone. The walls no longer shake, and her ears aren’t ringing.

Anya attempts to shake the haze from her mind. If this is it, she wants to meet it head on. She wants to die with honour.

Her limbs are so heavy, but not encumbered by any restraints. They’d been left off a while ago. She’s too weak to attempt to escape anyway, but if she can sit up, then she’ll be happy. A groan slips past chapped and dry lips.

_ When was the last time I drank anything? _

A gasp rings out, immediately causing Anya to freeze, not that she’d moved all that much. One leg dangles from the cot, but otherwise she’s still lying down.

_ “Anya?” _ A voice calls out in surprise. Definitely not her captor.

To her surprise, Anya finds her head turning easily, causing her eyes to land on an armoured woman standing in the doorway.

_ Is that… Azgeda armour? _

Her mind locks onto a single thought, however, when her gaze lands on a pair of brightly glowing, purple, eyes.

_ “Wanheda.” _ She manages the word with minimal stuttering, voice sounding reverent, even to her own ears. This is it then. She’s dying. But somehow, Wanheda has found her worthy enough to be collected in person. A single tear collects at the hollow of her eye, despite her dehydration.

_ “I’m ready.” _ Anya manages to croak it out. If Wanheda is here to take her away, then she has nothing to complain about. She’ll die like a warrior.

As Wanheda steps closer, Anya doesn’t notice the familiar features or the distinctive blonde hair. All she sees are purple eyes, full of a horrified understanding.

Hands move over her body, softly checking her for injuries. Anya allows it, though not understanding why Wanheda deems it necessary.

Neither of them say anything. Anya, because she doesn’t have the energy or motivation, and Wanheda… Well, Anya doesn’t know. That Wanheda is even here is significant enough. Something must have happened, but for once Anya is happy to leave the worry behind for someone else.

She’s so tired. So weak.

Anya is broken, and unfortunately, she knows it.

Gently, so incredibly gently, Wanheda slips slim and strong arms underneath Anya, who does nothing to prevent the motion. She finds herself being lifted easily — far too easily — and cradled against Wanheda’s armour.

_ “Let’s get you home.” _ The words are as much a promise as a gentle reminder. Anya lets it wash over her; lets the exhaustion fully take hold. The darkness has never felt more welcoming and friendly as it gently cradles her.

————

_ “Let’s get you home.” _ Clarke lets the words out, but keeps the pain and regret out. At least she thinks she does.

Watching Anya, the strong and proud warrior, be so weak is pulling at something within Clarke; something alarming, and something that resonates all too honestly with Anya’s words. She’s dying and she knows it. Clarke’s instincts agree readily, but it’s not all over yet. So long as she keeps breathing, there’s a chance, but they’re going to have to move fast.

Clarke quickly scans the room, attempting to find anything that might belong to Anya. They didn’t have any weapons during their escape from the Mountain, except for a single knife.

The floor is bare, aside from the hospital cot that Anya had been lying on, and the walls are solid metal. Not finding anything, Clarke pulls Anya a little tighter against her in a bridal carry, and turns towards the door.

There’s a floor to ceiling contraption beside the door, with a glass front. Peering through the dark glass, and ignoring the faded off-white label declaring it “Property of United States Space Command - Research Division”

The inside seems to be empty, and unwilling to risk any further delays, Clarke carries through the doorway. Lincoln has been standing guard outside, and appears to not have heard any of Clarke and Anya’s small conversation, because his horror and anger is very, very, real at seeing Anya in Clarke’s arms.

“I know. We need to get her out of here, Lincoln. She’s dying.” Clarke wants to scream and lash out too, but they’re already behind schedule. With Anya in the picture, things have just suddenly become even more tense and problematic.

Good thing they’re not entirely on their own.

Clarke presses the button on her radio to transmit. “Monty, Raven, we’re going to need some help to get outside as fast as possible. We can’t take the maintenance ducts.”

As she’s speaking, Lincoln’s large frame towers above her. Hands reaching out, he indicates for Clarke to hand over Anya to him. Without thinking, she allows the movement, but follows up with a questioning raise of her eyebrow.

“You are Wanheda.” It’s a statement and explanation rolled into one, and any other day Clarke might seek clarification, but right now she’s pumped up on adrenaline and her instincts are telling her to go with it. It’s an unspoken acknowledgement of her skills; of her station.

And Clarke gets it; she does. She’s stronger than Lincoln, despite the difference in size and muscle-mass. Faster, and more agile too. It’s a logical separation of duties.

Wanheda is a protector, after all.

Monty’s voice comes through in a crackle. “Alright. Raven will guide you, while I’ll make sure the doors aren’t in your way.”

A beat later, Clarke is following Raven’s directions and rushing down the corridor with Lincoln hot on her heels. Doors opening automatically in front of them, one by one, before shutting with a definitive hiss seconds after crossing by them.

Clarke sends an appreciative smile at the first surveillance camera she finds, hands too full of swords to operate the radio.

————

The guards at the gate have stopped shouting at their radio, but have taken up an even more anxious stance, constantly casting nervous glances all around them. Hands no longer hovering by their weapons, instead having drawn them, holding them at their sides. They might have been trained well, but they’re the only two guards, and there’s an unusual group of nearly a hundred people by the campfires.

Jasper has been watching them from his place beside Harper, getting ready for the inevitable confrontation. The tensions have kept rising since Jasper quietly informed the group of Raven’s find on the monitors. He’s not blind to Dr. Jackson’s blanched look either, and has connected the dots too. Sedatives going missing.

“The moment Clarke comes out.” His quiet order is repeated down the line of delinquents, leaving the adults looking around in confusion. It’s a good thing too, because it breaks up what would have been an impossible to miss stillness settling over the group. They’re suspicious enough as it is.

Arkadia’s sealed entrance, a former airlock, releases a violent hiss and clang, before swinging open. As if synchronized, everyone turns to watch as Clarke comes barrelling outside, wielding two swords like a true Grounder. A gasp builds from the group as they take in her changed appearance; her armour and purple eyes, but her blonde braids have eyes raising as well.

Harper moves before Jasper, making him slightly embarrassed at his own sluggish response. The first of the stones carried by the delinquents hits its mark, connecting with the soft flesh of the gate guard’s chest, through the thin uniform.

A hail of stones, wildly differing in size, start raining down on the two guards, causing them to drop their weapons and seek shelter behind the construction of a watchtower. Having hoped for this reaction, Jasper and Harper rush forward to pick up the fallen guns, with Harper immediately training hers on the two guards.

Jasper keeps one eye on the guards, and one eye on the adults of the Ark, who seem shocked by the exertion and violence shown by the delinquents. Honestly, what did they expect?

“Jackson!” Clarke’s voice calls out, having spotted the doctor among the group of adults. The shout calls Jasper’s attention to Clarke, and by extension Lincoln and the woman in his arms.

The doctor takes two steps towards Lincoln, clearly already focused on the injured woman, but stops in his tracks as more people emerge from the main entrance.

————

Wick is certain his heart has never beat this fast before. Although, maybe during the descent to Earth? He’s not sure, as he passed out and woke up under Abby’s care in the Medbay with a concussion.

Now though? Now he wishes he’d taken up the Guard training Abby had offered, but he gets the benefits either way. More food and better quarters, without the hassle of having to exercise.

In front of him, Abby swipes her badge again, and enters her private code in order to override the sudden lock-down of all Ark systems. The door slides open, but instead of being faced with a locked airlock as expected, it’s left gaping open. A commotion can be heard outside, and Wick is pretty certain he heard Clarke shout for someone.

He’s about to step forward when a hand lands on his shoulder, tugging him to come face to face with the Chancellor. Abby’s friendly smile doesn’t match up to the dark look in her eyes, but Wick’s used to it at this point. He’d been shocked at Clarke’s revelations and the understanding of just what had happened in the Ark back in space, but honestly?

He understands. With a clarity that’s kind of shocking, but he understands. Jake Griffin had been the only engineer to find the issue. Wick hadn’t found it, hell, Sinclair hadn’t even found it, and he’s the Chief Engineer.

Jake couldn’t fix it, and it’s clear he didn’t think it could be fixed, since he didn’t share the information with any of his fellow engineers. It’s a shame he tried to go public, because Jake would have been useful in the Exodus programme. It’s a hard-earned lesson to Wick, but it’s become clear that people are stupid.

They’re not to be trusted. Just look at Diana Sydney and her actions. Stealing an Exodus ship, and causing the Ark to shut down. She alone killed far more people than the careful culling the Council had ordered.

If only they’d been given more time, Engineering should have fixed that Exodus ship. The Ark wouldn’t have had to re-enter the atmosphere, at least not so recklessly. They could have saved thousands.

So yes. Wick understands Jake Griffin’s desire to save them all, but he does not agree with the actions the man would have taken. Not at all. Perhaps being floated was for the best.

“Wick!” Abby’s sharp voice calls out, and by the sound of it, it’s not the first time she’s tried to get his attention.

“Sorry, lost in thought for a second. What do you need?” He quickly composes himself. Abby has shown him what he can do for their people, and he doesn’t want to let them down, even if it means months of hardship.

“I realised that with the lock-down, the Guard won’t be able to get to us. Those not on watch were all at training in the closed-off section at the back of Arkadia.” She pauses, before unclipping her badge. “Since we already tested yours, I assume it’s only Kane, Sinclair and I that can override the doors. I want you to take this and go let the Guard in. We might need them.” She leans in closer, whispering her pass-code, and Wick’s heart swells slightly with the trust and responsibility shown to him.

————

Clarke sighs as she feels eyes shifting from her to the entrance to the Ark behind her. She’d heard a door unlock, but had hoped they’d have more time. Really wishes that Jackson would have had time to look over Anya, but it can’t be helped. “Go, Lincoln. Jackson’s a healer. Let him have a look at her.” Lower, and more carefully, Clarke adds. “Keep your back turned to the entrance, I’d rather they don’t see her yet”

“Clarke?” Abby’s timid voice rings out. It’s so laughably fake, but Clarke knows she’d have fallen for it not long ago. Back still turned, Clarke presses the button on her radio all the way down, until it clicks in place. “Monty, Raven, I want you to put me through the PA. My mic is on, so I won’t be able to hear you for a while.” She orders with a whisper, her head bowed.

“What’s going on, Clarke. This isn’t like you.”

As expected, there’s no reply from Monty or Raven, as the radio can only receive or broadcast, but not both at the same time. The slight crackle of the speakers turning back on is low enough that Clarke is sure she’s the only one that notices.

Keeping her head down, and arms away from her recently sheathed swords, Clarke turns around. She picks up on a quiet gasp, and whispered “Clarke”, not meant for anyone but Abby’s own ears. Slowly, Clarke moves closer but does not answer Abby’s question.

She pauses when she’s close enough to see the boots of the guards surrounding her mother. Only four guards? Looks like Kane truly did come through on the training exercise.

**“You said she died.”** Clarke tries her best to keep her voice steady, void of the anger coursing through her. She doesn’t quite manage to conceal it, and the amplification and effect of her voice coming from all around them only causes it to sound more menacing.

She raises her head, pinning her mother underneath her glare, noticing the purple glow of her eyes reflected in Abby as her mother rapidly pales.

**“You nearly doomed everyone in Arkadia with yet another power play.”** Clarke lets the anger out. It whips at her words, making them all sharp edges and cuts through the tense silence that had covered the group. Behind Abby, her guards slowly place their hands on their guns, as if Clarke wouldn’t notice.

**“You have kept one of the highest ranking Generals of the Coalition as your prisoner for months.”** Abby seems to pale even further at those words. Perhaps Anya hadn’t talked? Hadn’t broken? **“People of Arkadia, this woman is your Chancellor. Do you really support a monster? Do you truly support torturing a woman, who was going to help us take down the Mountain,** **for months?”** Clarke pauses, readying herself for the truth and conflict she knows needs to happen, because they’re running out of time. She can feel the crowd moving behind her, getting closer to the gate.

_ Jasper’s good at this. _

**“Do you want to stand behind a woman who worked with the people within Mt. Weather? Do you want to support a leader who experiments on children?”**

Abby’s shock has worn off by now, going by the belligerently shouted defense coming from her, but Clarke’s aware it’s an act. It’s too sudden and too upset to be real.

**“You know she’s been claiming a lack of food. That’s the reason behind your rationing; behind your scarcity and lack of supplies. It’s a lie. She’s been hoarding it for herself. For her Council.”**

The first guard trains his gun on Clarke, and she turns purple eyes on him and smirks viciously. He jerks at the expression, and that’s just the opening Clarke needs. A throwing knife slams into his arm before he can blink, and the gun is wrestled from his grasp a heartbeat later, Clarke having crossed the distance in three blisteringly fast strides. 

She throws the gun over her shoulder, knowing it’ll be within reach of one of the delinquents, or Kane, she doesn’t quite care which. The knife goes back into its sheath, knowing she’ll need to clean the blood from everything later.

**“You need to make a decision.”** She’s calmly breathing out the words, despite already attacking the next guard, having disarmed him before the sentence has slipped from her mouth.

A shot rings out from behind her, and a wet gurgling sound bubbles up from another guard. Shot in the throat, there’s nothing she can do to save him. She doesn’t want to either, but she can spare him the pain, at least.  **“Thanks, Jasper.”** She slides down around the guard in a crouch, standing up and pulling the guard’s arm away from his own throat in a smooth movement. She wraps her own arm around his neck, ignoring the warm, slick, blood seeping into her armour; ignoring the metallic smell that she can practically taste. His neck snaps easily with the amount of pressure Clarke applies.

  
  


She turns to the last guard, who drops his gun when he sees the devastation that landed on his squad in a manner of seconds. **“I knew you weren’t all stupid. Here’s the thing. My mother, Abigail Griffin, is not a leader. She’s playing at power, and only knows to lash out when she doesn’t get it.”**

Clarke turns to face her mother, coming face to face with a shock baton that’s coming ever closer to hitting her. Clarke is honestly surprised Abby even carries one, having used to claim a deep hatred of them, because they made her life as a doctor harder. People were weak on the Ark, and what used to be less-than-lethal on the Earth before the war was quite often lethal on the Ark, due to lack of exercise and proper nutrients; due to a lack of oxygen.

Perhaps people had changed the settings. Clarke doesn’t know, and she readies herself to fight her mother as well, but another shot rings out, causing Abby to crumple to the ground, her leg bleeding profusely.

_ Probably for the best. I’m not sure I could make myself do it. _

Clarke bends down, quickly picking up the dropped shock baton, as well as the dropped pistol from the guard who surrendered.

**“This is your last chance.”** She’s no longer speaking to the residents of Arkadia. She’s staring her mother down, rapidly switching between wanting to kill her, and wanting to help her up. It’s her mother, and despite everything, Clarke can’t get over that fact.

Tears flow down Abby’s face, and Clarke feels her heart squeeze tightly at the sight, because she doesn’t know if it’s real. Doesn’t know if it’s simply tears from the pain, tears of regret, or a mixture. She simply doesn’t know.

**“You’re no longer in space, and life isn’t just about survival any longer. We deserve a chance to live. Today, I’m giving that chance to MY people.”** Clarke walks away, leaving a sole stunned guard standing above a bloodbath, and her mother sobbing on the ground, unable to harm the last of her biological family.

**“Today, I’m giving you a warning. You can keep Abigail Griffin as your leader and struggle to survive, or you can adapt to life on the ground, and learn to live. I suggest you heed it.”**

With that, Clarke joins Jasper and Harper at the gate, making sure all of their people are safely outside, forming a protective perimeter at the back, keeping anyone from Arkadia from getting close.

————

Clarke finally remembers to disengage her radio when they reach the forest. Alexis has already dropped down, standing and looking fierce near Lincoln, as Dr. Jackson checks over Anya again.

Jasper stops just inside the edge, turning back to look over Arkadia; over the fallen Alpha Station.

“Do you think they’re going to listen?” He glances sideways at Clarke, clearly holding back the questions about her changed appearance, but the curiosity shines brightly in his eyes.

“I hope so” She responds, already knowing the answer. Jasper sighs.

In the distance, Clarke can just barely make out a large group of guards streaming through the opening of the Ark, into the fenced-in area surrounding the former station.

“The Guard managed to get through.” She knew they would, it’s always just been a matter of time, anyway. A series of distractions in the hope of getting what they wanted, before anyone noticed.

‘It’s a magic show, kiddo.’ Her dad used to say, when he would tell her stories of how they did maintenance on the Ark. People don’t want to see the gritty detail, they just want to see the action. It just needs to work.

“I spiked their food, just before lunch.” Jasper states it with a careless abandon, but Clarke recognizes the mischievous smirk for what it is.

“How long before it kicks in?”

“Remember the Jobi nuts? Monty and I managed to get a stash built up, right after the Mountain, when we were still allowed out.” He shakes himself, before answering the question. “Lincoln said it’d be about an hour.”

_ An hour. How long has it really been? _

Clearly it hasn’t kicked in yet, or at least not for everyone, as a large group of guards start to move towards the open gate. She presses the button on her radio again, certain Monty and Raven would have disconnected her from Arkadia’s speakers.

“Raven, you there?” She inquires, knowing Raven has been waiting impatiently for this ever since they started.

“For you, Griffin? Always.” It’s a joking reply, but there’s an undertone of honest vulnerability in it that has Clarke sucking in a breath. She doesn’t know how she made friends like this, and still doesn’t think she deserves them

“It’s time. Do your thing.”

The early afternoon is lit up once again by a blinding explosion, tearing through Raven’s former base of operation. The girl had rigged Engineering with so many explosives and rocket fuel that nothing inside would be recoverable.

It tears through the side of the Ark, destroying a large segment of fence irreparably, and throwing the chunks into the meadow around Arkadia.

It’s an unfortunate necessity. Clarke doesn’t like destroying things for the sake of destruction. She’s not Raven. But, Arkadia had a rover; a highly armed rover, that she couldn’t leave in the hands of her mother, or worse, Jaha.

The Guards at Arkadia turn around as the explosion tears through the fortifications, running back to help the injured.

_ An unfortunate necessity, indeed. _

“Come on, let's get you all back to TonDC.”

————

Lincoln and Alexis quickly put together a makeshift stretcher, made of branches and strips from their clotehs. They place Anya on it, carrying her between them.

They set a surprisingly fast pace through the forest, with Clarke staying close to Anya throughout, though she moves to speak with everyone in turn, thanking them for their help today, and for not giving away the escape to anyone.

Their route takes them directly to TonDC, bypassing the bunker, but Clarke has warned the others over the radio, and they’re met by Nyko, Monty, Raven and their guards soon after setting off.

Nyko immediately strikes off a conversation with Jackson about Anya’s status, deep frowns visible on both men as their eyes shift between them to their unconscious patient.

The scouts in the trees are good, near silent, but Clarke had expected them, so their presence isn’t a surprise. She determinedly ignores their presence, though she locks eyes with a few, enjoying their shocked expressions. Does absolutely nothing to stop them, even as she hears them running through the forest to report back to TonDC.

It wouldn’t do to countermand Lexa’s orders, and right now Clarke does not want to be on the Commander’s bad side. It’s bad enough that she’d claimed Anya was dead; that she’d lied about the body, because her mother had claimed to bury her with the dead from the Ark’s descent.

_ What a mess. _

————

Anya’s condition isn’t as bad as they’d first thought, at least not bad enough to require both Jackson and Nyko hovering over her. With a glance at Clarke, Nyko indicates she’s in charge of keeping Jackson in line. Then, without a word, Nyko sprints ahead and into TonDC.

When the group makes it through the gates to the real TonDC, there’s a sense of growing wonder in the group. Kane especially looks around with wonder in his eyes, muttering under his breath about how he knew the outpost had seemed too small, too insignificant.

There’s no welcoming committee for them, or at least not the one Clarke had expected. Lexa’s nowhere to be found, but Indra strides towards the group with her military precision.

A single glance at Anya, frail and laid out on the stretcher, has her face smooth out into an expressionless mask. A hint of respect still shines through when she greets Clarke, but she’s decidedly glacial when turning to the rest of the group.

Clarke decides to skip the expected formalities, understanding that this is yet another time to trust her instincts, and she’s needed elsewhere.

_ “Indra, Monty and Raven can brief you on what happened. I.. I need to be with Anya right now.”  _ Some of the emotions Clarke still doesn't understand fully must have shown on her face, because Indra softens slightly at the sight.

_ “Of course, Wanheda.” _

It’s only when Indra responds that Clarke realises she’d switched to Trigedasleng, but she’s already urging Alexis and Lincoln on beside her, gesturing for Jackson to come along as well.

————

The Healer’s House appears empty, which Clarke is certain isn’t at all common. As they get closer, Clarke can hear pacing from within, and something uncoils slightly in her gut at the sound of soft whining and yapping.

Nyko comes out, having both expected them and having heard their hurried approach on the cobblestone road. With a silent hand movement and a pinched expression, he guides them into one of the private rooms, where Lexa and Madi are waiting.

Gently placing Anya on the bed, Alexis backs out of the room, pulling Jackson with her after a glance at Nyko, knowing they shouldn’t be privy to this. Lincoln stays in the room, but takes up a guarding position by the door, a hand resting heavily on his sword.

Lexa surges forward the moment the door closes behind Alexis, grasping at Anya’s hand as her mask cracks. Clarke has to look away, moving to help Nyko treat Anya, but he shoos her away.

Not wanting to leave, Clarke takes a place beside Lexa, relaxing a little at the immediate weight of Madi jumping into her lap, and from the warmth exuded by Lexa.

They sit in silence, Clarke watching as Nyko tends to Anya, while Lexa’s eyes never leave Anya’s gaunt features. She’s lost so much weight. Where before there was sinewy muscle and barely hidden strength, now there is frailty and weakness.

_ “She’ll be OK.” _ Clarke’s voice sounds sure, surprising herself a little, but she doesn’t correct herself. She really is sure. The nervous feeling from earlier having faded into more of a concern, and less of a surety that Anya would die.  _ “She’ll be OK.” _ Clarke repeats, laying a hand on Lexa’s shoulder.

There’s no visible reaction, but when Nyko nods in agreement, the tense muscles beneath her hand relaxes minutely in response.

It’s been nagging at her during the entire trip back, guilt eating her up.  _ “I’m sorry. I was told she died, and that she’d been buried with our own dead.” _ She should have done more. Should have demanded of Abby that they give the body back to Lexa. Perhaps it’s for the best that she didn’t, because Clarke clearly doesn’t know her own mother as well as she thought.

_ What if she’d actually killed Anya, just to have a body? _

_ “Thank you Klark.” _ Lexa manages to get the words out, stumbling on the silent sobs that she’s pretending nobody can see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO.
> 
> I promised no cliffhanger for this chapter, and I promised the escape from Arkadia would wrap up in this chapter. Clearly, I should stop making promises, because my fingers are aching and this is a double chapter.
> 
> Jokes aside, this is genuinely two chapters in one because I couldn’t find a way to chop it without leaving you hanging with a major cliffie, and I also wanted to make up for the last two chapters that were a little shorter than usual!
> 
> There’s something I want to clear up in this A/N, because I know it’s going to get mentioned :p  
> Basically, yes, Clarke made a couple of potentially very stupid mistakes during the assault of Arkadia, and yes they might come back to bite her in the arse. I’ve mentioned it in a few comments already, but one of Clarke’s main weaknesses is family. Both biological and chosen. She can, and will, hurt them in self defence, or if they’re in her way. But, if they’re on the ground and already hurting like Abby? Well.. Clarke can’t finish them. She just can’t.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this chapter as much as I did writing it (despite my fingers complaints), and I’m really looking forward to hearing what you thought of it! I’m open to critique and negative feedback as well, so don’t worry about offending me if you didn’t like it, just don’t be rude :) 
> 
> That’s it, hope you’re all still staying safe! If you’re in an area with a lot of storms (Philippines) or with power outages or riots or just about anything else you can come up with, then I hope you take extra care and stay close to your families!
> 
> Thank you all for sticking with me on this journey so far :)


	26. Ch 26 - Don't Look Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anya wakes up, uncertain and confused about her surroundings. 
> 
> _Is this death?_

_ “Thank you Klark.”  _ Lexa manages to get the words out, stumbling on the silent sobs that she’s pretending nobody can see.

————

The silence hangs heavy between them, covering the room in an oppressive blanket of smothered words and barely restrained emotions. Lexa’s shoulder is tense, moving minutely with each contained sob. Every movement straining slightly against Clarke’s hand, a surprisingly calming presence on her shoulder, even as she attempts to hold back emotions with iron will.

Something has to give. Has to bend and move with the flow and pressure of the emotions swirling around the room. It affects everyone. It’s how Madi is an unusually quiet and frozen figure in Clarke’s lap, not willing to make any noise to upset the quiet. How Lincoln’s watchful stance by the door is just a smidgen more rigid, and the expression on his face a touch more solemn than expected. How Nyko doesn’t bustle around his patient, and how he doesn’t shoo Lexa and Clarke away to triple-check Anya. It’s how Clarke doesn’t say anything; how her face shows nothing but guilt and regret.

_ “I thought.. I thought it was a nightmare..” _

To Lexa’s own surprise, she breaks first; whispered confession piercing the silence. She blinks furiously, but a tear manages to escape her attempts at reigning it in, following the wet trail left behind by other traitorous drops.

_ “I felt it. Felt her fade.” _

The memory is never far from reach, having stayed close at hand in the months that have passed. It’s a visceral and vicious thing, and truly the first meeting she ever had with Clarke, even if the girl doesn’t know. Truly, the memory is from Anya’s perspective, so Lexa isn’t sure it counts.

She’s certain of the pain, though. Of how Anya had said goodbye to a mud-covered Clarke, who wore the clothes of Lexa’s dead people. How Anya had turned away, intending to go to Lexa, but had been stopped by a piercing pain in her belly. The already dim light of the evening had momentarily flashed brightly, and sounds of a struggle behind Anya had been heard. But then, then everything had gone blurry; had started to fade at the edges, like a painting covered in water. Through her mark on Anya’s shoulder, she’d felt the energy slowly leave her body.

Clarke’s hand clenches tightly around Lexa’s shoulder for a moment before relaxing again, and in that moment Lexa knows that Clarke understands. She must have felt something similar when Monty had been shot. Why else would she have sought him out? Why else would she come to TonDC?

_ “She’s alive.” _ Clarke doesn’t bother with keeping her voice down, and the truth rings through the small patient room with conviction. Had it been anyone else, Lexa would have scoffed and argued, because clearly Anya is not in a good state.  _ “It’s not her time.” _ But this is Wanheda, and who is Lexa to argue with a being thought to command death?

Clearly, Lexa isn’t the only one to think so, as Lincoln abandons both his post at the door, and any pretence of not caring, instead taking a seat beside Lexa and wrapping a strong arm around her. She leans into the comfort gratefully, greedily, taking from her family what she can in her moment of weakness.

Lexa doesn’t notice the confusion fluttering into Clarke’s expression, eyes flickering between the siblings, and doesn’t notice when understanding seeps in and Clarke’s lips lift in a soft smile.

She’s too caught up in the sound of Anya’s breathing, having focused every sense on her mentor and friend. It’s this focus that keeps her from noticing Clarke, as it alerts her to Anya’s slightly faster breathing; to the near invisible movement of her eyelids.

Eyelids that slowly crack open, slamming back down again at the dim light in the room. Eventually they open and Lexa has to force down the sob at the sheer amount of emotions expressed in those glassy, unfocused, orbs as they land on her.

_ “Lexa?” _

————

_ Soft. _

That’s the first coherent thought crossing through the haze of Anya’s mind as the darkness recedes a little.

Soft and warm. Supportive.

So unlike the cold metal cot she’d grown used to. So unlike the bone-freezing cold that had preceded it.

It’s the indistinct voices that catch her focus, at least Anya thinks so. They’re so  _ familiar _ ; achingly so. There’s two distinct tones, two people. She knows them.

Knew them?

The air is infused with the smell of herbs; a calming mixture that also feels incredibly familiar, yet faded, as if she hasn’t encountered it for a long time.

_ If this is death, why am I still in pain? _

Despite the comforting scents, the familiar voices, and the support and warm of the bed she’s lying on, Anya can’t help but resent her fate. Resent the fact that even in death, pain nips at her heels no matter how fast she runs.

Still, Anya hasn’t gone through life without learning to take a few punches. Agonizingly slowly, she manages to gather the energy to open her eyes, only to get immediately blinded by the light.

Trying again, her eyes take in the surprisingly dim light of the room, before landing on the one person she hadn’t expected to see. Not her. Not here.

_ “Lexa?” _ Anya gasps out the name, somehow managing to get control of her lips.

Eyes locked on the face of her former Seken, and the girl she thought of as a younger sister, Anya feels despair rising up. If Lexa is here, then that means…

_ “Did Wanheda take you too?” _ She manages to croak out, around flaky, dry, lips.

Lexa’s face, void of warpaint and stained by tears, warms as a slight blush overtakes her features, and Anya directs her eyes to the ceiling at the confirmation. It’s more than she needed, and the sadness of the truth is too much to bear. Overpowers Anya’s own relief of her fight finally being over, because it isn’t worth it if Lexa is dead too.

**_“I did not.”_ ** Calm. Powerful. Oddly familiar.

Anya turns her head, eyes snapping towards the source where she’s met with reassuring purple.

**_“Lexa is not dead.”_ ** Wanheda confirms gently, causing relief to flood through the haze in her mind.  **_“And neither are you.”_ ** The being continues with a firm voice.  **_“Look around.”_ **

Anya takes the command for what it is, running her eyes over Wanheda and quietly filing away the blonde braid and Azgeda armour. The wolf in Wanheda’s lap has Anya spinning, but she quickly focuses back on Lexa, taking in her stress-lined features. The dark arm wound around her shoulders, leading back to Lincoln. Anya avoids thinking of the gentle smile and knowing glint in his eyes, certain that whatever truth they hold is going to be uncomfortable.

There’s a bustling on her other side, someone moving around the space with a determined speed. As she rolls her head over, she comes face to face with Nyko, who holds up a wooden cup in offering.

_ “Water.” _ He answers her silent question, holding it up to her lips. She tries to drink greedily, becoming uncomfortably aware of her parched mouth and desert-like lungs. Nyko paces her though, and it’s that action that makes Anya realise; what makes her truly believe that she’s not dead, because Nyko only shows such care for the patients that truly need it, having little patience for unruly people.

The moment stretches out before her, and Anya savours it like each drop of water, until the reality of the situation grips her heart with panic.

_ “The Maunon… Our people.. They’re alive inside the Maun-de, Lexa. They use our blood. We need to get to them!” _ Her voice slips free more easily, throat working better after drinking, but the frantic panic is making her speak faster and faster, while her heartbeat is soaring to new heights.

The grimace on Lexa’s face catches Anya off-guard. She hasn’t seen that particular expression in years, but she recognizes it immediately. Because, staring back at Anya is the face Lexa would make as a child after having done something wrong; guilt and regret, with no expressionless mask in sight.

_ “Not anymore. We.. We got them out.” _ Lexa states slowly with concern directed at Anya. Anya, who notices the way Wanheda frowns momentarily, and she wonders what has caused the spirit to choose a host again. But it doesn’t make any sense. How could they have gotten their people out of the Maun-de? It hadn’t been that long. She would have noticed, wouldn’t she?

_ “How? Did Klark explain what they were doing?” _ Because that’s the only thing that makes sense. Clarke must have brought her braid to Lexa, explaining what the Maunon were doing, and somehow convincing Lexa to trust her. The slow nod she’s given only confirms her thoughts. Still, Anya can’t quite believe that they’d gotten their people out so fast.

**_“What happened to you, after they shot you?”_ ** Wanheda interrupts her thoughts, concern etched deeply into her face too. She’d rather not revisit the memories, she can’t deny either her Commander or Wanheda. They need to know.

_ “I woke up in a metal room, restrained. My stomach burned from the wound, but someone had tended to in. A woman came in,“ _ Cold eyes stare at her through memories, bringing forth a violent shudder,  _ “and she told me Klark thought me dead. She cut off my braid.” _ Her arm reaches up, unbidden, fingers trailing through short and uneven hair.  _ “She put a needle in me, and everything went dark and cold. So cold.” _

The shiver returns with a vengeance as the feeling of cold sweeps over and through her again. Never before has Anya longed so much for the harsh burn of the sun on her skin.  _ “Every day I woke up on the metal, she’d be there to interrogate me. And every time she left, she’d put the needle back in and the cold would come back.” _

Anya frowns. Something niggling at her, feeling off. She can’t pinpoint it, so it’s pushed to the side for later.

_ “After six days, I woke up in the room alone. The woman was more furious than usual, when she came back in, once again demanding I tell her everything I know about you — about the Commander —” _ Nyko helpfully holds out the cup of water when he notices her voice getting raspy, and Anya sips gratefully.  _ “And about Nightbloods. She got more and more angry, but said violence was beneath her, so one of her guards would beat me instead, She didn’t put me back to sleep — or feed me — after that and I was only given a little water each day.” _

Anya pauses, thinking back and trying to stitch the hazy — painful — memories into a proper timeline.  _ “That was maybe a week ago? It was hard to tell the time without seeing the sun.” _ She offers, attempting a shrug, but aborting it when she notices both Lexa and Wanheda’s eyes widening. Unsure of what’s so surprising, Anya relaxes back into the soft bed with a sigh.

_ “Anya..” _ Lexa’s voice is far more hesitant — far more worried — than Anya has heard it in years.  _ “You’ve been gone for nearly three months. A full season.” _

_ Oh. _

_ “Oh.” _

_ “I thought you were dead. Everyone did. It’s only when Klark was breaking her people out of Arkadia that she found you.” _ Lexa gestures towards Wanheda as she explains, causing Anya’s eyes to go as wide as Lexa’s own.

Wanheda choosing someone from Skaikru as her host sounds wrong. It almost seems impossible to imagine, yet now that it’s been pointed out to her, Anya can’t help but notice the similarities. The colour of Wanheda’s hair matches, but the braids have thrown her off so far. The Azgeda armour, the swords at her side, and the more muscular build are all so different, that the thought hasn’t even crossed her mind.

But, her eyes are still purple. Still glowing, pulsing with power and emotions, just as they had when Wanheda had found Anya in the cell.

_ “It’s me, Anya.” _ Wanheda says, dropping the slight echoing quality that Anya used to hear from Lexa and Heda. Wanheda’s eyes stay the same though, still purple, and Anya is almost afraid to ask.

Turns out, she doesn’t have to.  _ “I’m.. Not like Lexa and Heda. Not spirit and host in one body, but rather just.. Me. I’m Wanheda.” _ Which truly doesn’t make too much sense to Anya at the moment, but she rolls with it. Wanheda is secretive, and nobody really knows much about her.

_ “We attacked the Maunon, but it didn’t go quite as planned.” _ Again, Anya notices the grimace pulling at Lexa’s features, and how she seems to sag with guilt and regret.  _ “I had to reveal myself to save my people. Don’t worry about the Maunon, they’re dead.” _ This time, the shiver coursing through Anya has nothing to do with memories of cold darkness, but everything to do with the calm sense of finality carried by the words.

With a graceful motion, Wanheda — Clarke? — stands up, lifting the wolf from her lap into an embrace before gently letting it down on the floor; a soft smile gracing her face.

_ “Lexa can tell you the details.” _ A significant glance is exchanged between the two powerful women before Clarke turns back to Anya.  _ “Besides, I think your family wants to speak with you in private.” _

_ “Come on Madi, let’s see if we can find Monty and Raven.” _ Clarke has turned her attention to the wolf at her feet, and the wolf quickly responds with an excited yip before running towards the door.

As Clarke shuts it behind them, Anya turns her most disbelieving stare at Lexa, trying to communicate just how frustrated and confused she is.

_ “Did she just say she isn’t a host?” _

————

The moment they step foot outside, it becomes clear just how much Madi had been restraining herself inside the healer’s house. She’s practically overflowing with energy, running circles around Clarke as she yips excitedly about her time with Lexa.

**_“Grandfather was Heda!”_ ** Is the first thing Madi says, which almost causes Clarke to trip over the excited wolf. Lexa hadn’t mentioned it to Clarke, but then again, they haven’t really spent all that much time together.

**_“Lexa said he was the best. He was wise and fair, she said!”_ **

Clarke isn’t quite sure how Madi manages to have time to breathe between the rapid-fire sounds, but somehow she manages. The smile on her face stretches as she gives Madi her full attention, while guiding them towards the meeting hall where she expects to find Indra and the escaped Skaikru.

_ “He was? Did she tell you stories, then?” _ Clarke inquires, absently wondering if Elenor had known about Madi’s grandfather.

**_“She did!! Lexa told me all about how mom and grandmother went to Louwoda Kliron Kru to live, because living in Polis would have been dangerous.”_ **

Despite the serious nature of the story, Madi appears incredibly excited to have learned something new about her family. Madi talks and talks, far more and in a more excited tone than Clarke has heard before.

She listens to Madi tell a tale of her grandmother running from Polis with her mother in the middle of the night. Of how Heda Hanbin would travel through the few allied clans, just to meet up with his lover in secret; how he had to stop and get more careful as Aiwen grew older.

Clarke doesn’t agree with it, but the clans had been at war, and the coalition hadn’t been formed yet. He did what he had to, in order to protect those he loved. If nothing else, Madi seems to have enjoyed the story, and Clarke makes a note to thank Lexa for this gift. For it is a gift; information Clarke wouldn’t have been able to give to Madi on her own.

————

Unfortunately, Madi’s storytelling comes to an abrupt end as they enter the meeting hall. The guards are already looking at Madi weirdly, unused to a wolf being inside TonDC; certainly unused to a wolf being so vocal and friendly around a someone, even if that someone happens to be Wanheda.

The amount of noise coming from within the hall is slightly painful to Clarke’s sensitive ears. From how Madi’s ears are turned back, she’s in full agreement.

_ “We’ll be quick, I promise. I don’t want to be inside any more than you do. Let’s go for a hunt later, OK?” _

With that promise, Clarke pushes the inner door of the hall open. Practically everyone turns to look at them as they step inside, with many still looking surprised at her altered appearance.

_ That’ll probably take a while to get used to. _

Ignoring the stares, which luckily is something Clarke has grown used to long ago, she makes her way towards Indra. She doubts anyone else notices, but it’s clear that Indra is tired and worried; her stance and mien lacking the crisp edge she normally carries.

“Chief Indra,” Clarke intones clearly in English, more for the benefit of those listening in, “I hope Monty and Raven have explained what happened at Arkadia?”

There’s a question brimming deep in Indra’s eyes, and it’s given away by the worried draw of her lips and cheeks. She’s too proud to ask, and with the crowd, Clarke doesn’t want to upset the woman. Instead, she quickly switches back to rapidfire Trigedasleng.

_ “She’s fine. Exhausted and malnourished, but she’ll be just fine. Lexa’s with her now, so let’s get this over with so you can join them.” _

Indra lets her features smooth out, allowing a small smirk in Clarke’s direction. “You see more than we give you credit for, Wanheda.” She pauses, before nodding towards Monty and Raven sitting with some of the delinquents at one of the many tables that have been brought in. “Those two explained it, yes, and introduced me to the leaders on the inside.”

With that, everything moves smoothly. Indra quickly summarizes what she’s already set up. There’s food and drink for the escaped Skaikru, and tents are being erected within the village walls, as there’s plenty of space now that the armies of the coalition have left.

As Indra leaves, Jasper coughs awkwardly. “She’s scary.” Clarke laughs, because yes, Indra can be incredibly scary. Their first meeting wasn’t exactly amicable, and the change between then and now is immense. Jasper drags her over to Kane and Dr. Jackson, who’re standing just off to the side.

_ Just the people I wanted to speak with. _

————

Everything Anya has been told weighs heavily on her.

The Maun-de has fallen, and it hadn’t been Lexa that did it. No, Clarke had taken them down, only having the help of a few of her people. Had killed nearly every single Maunon, only a few fortunate enough to survive her wrath.

Clarke is Wanheda. Which would have been shocking enough if Clarke was a host for Wanheda, but no, Lexa has been quite clear that Wanheda is Clarke. Or Clarke is Wanheda.

They’re one and the same.

Suddenly, losing a fist-fight to the scrawny girl during their escape from the Maun-de isn’t so embarrassing. Might even be a story she can tell around a campfire one day.

It’s something to look forward to. Hope, something Anya hasn’t felt for so, so long. Longer than she had thought, apparently, and she’s not sure how it’s possible, because she usually has a good sense of time passing by; has been trained to resist torture and live through imprisonment.

Somehow three months had become barely two weeks.

It frightens Anya far more than she wants to admit. How can anyone lose that much time? A few days or a week she would be able to understand, but over two months? That Skaikru woman must have done something to her.

_ Later. _

She has to remind herself to stay in the present; to not get lost in memories of the Maun-de’s harvest chamber, or the metal walls and bone-deep cold of the Skaikru village.

It’s something she’s successful at. Mostly. The water and scents of herbs help calm her, while the thought of food easily overpowers worse thoughts. Nyko had ordered her to stay away from solid foods for a while, instead moving to prepare his traditional soup, which wafts deliciously through the room.

The door cracks open, revealing Indra who quickly steps inside and finds first Anya, and then the bubbling soup off to the side. Predictable. Her smile is tight as she takes in Anya’s state, but the joy of seeing her alive is clearly visible regardless.

_ “I think we need to brush up your training, Seken. Can’t have you disappearing on us again.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh but this chapter just didn’t want to get written. I’m supposed to be doing NaNoWriMo, and I feel like I’ve written less than I normally do in a week :/  
> Work has, unfortunately, been very busy. And then there’s been that tiny, small — minuscule, really — election thing going on in the US, which took the rest of my focus away.
> 
> So, congratulations to everyone in the US on electing a pair of sensible people again!!
> 
> Please stay safe, everyone :)


	27. Ch 27 - Go for the Throat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke has a very important discussion about the future with Kane and Dr. Jackson, and explain a little of her past before going on a hunt with Madi.
> 
> Anya deals with the aftermath of her capture.

Jasper drags her over to Kane and Dr. Jackson, who’re standing just off to the side.

_ Just the people I wanted to speak with. _

————

“Clarke?” Hesitancy colours Kane’s voice as he notices them moving closer.

“Kane. Jackson.” Clarke greets both men with a cordial nod, and what she hopes is a welcoming smile. Before the men have a chance to respond, Clarke drops the smile, hating how fake it feels.

“Did you know?” Clarke has to ask, despite being happy to see them; despite their help during the escape, and the additional people they had been able to get away from Arkadia. She can’t help but let the doubt niggling at her free, putting words to the suspicion that had been growing since finding Anya as the Council’s prisoner.

Kane looks bewildered for a second, glancing first at her eyes, and Clarke can only imagine the questions that he must be assembling, but then Kane looks over at Jackson, the confusion only growing.

“Anya.” Clarke restrains herself from raising her voice, not wanting to cause a scene in the crowded room. Jasper frowns beside her, but stays silent. “The woman my mo- that Abby held prisoner.”

“The Grounder?” Jackson speaks up, and continues after seeing the nod from Clarke. “No. I was just talking to Jasper earlier, actually, as a lot of sedatives had been removed from medical, but we don’t check them that often.”

Somehow, Clarke believes him. She’s known him for years, and he’s never been a good liar. Besides, Jasper is nodding along with Jackson’s story, and she abruptly remembers that they had been working alongside in Medical since Monty and Raven’s escape. Clarke smiles briefly, genuine and warm.

“And you?” Clarke turns to Kane, adding clarification. “Anya was locked up in a cell within a secure area of Arkadia. One I had never been in, and one that isn’t on the floor plans. When Monty and Raven hacked in, it showed up as only accessible to the Chancellor.”

Kane’s hand reaches up on auto-pilot, digging into his unruly facial hair as he clearly turns inward. “A prisoner? Cells? No.. I know Abby sometimes disappeared, but honestly I was trying to stay away. I’ve never heard of a secure section other than for the Guards…” His hand stills momentarily, eyes locked on something only he can see. “Although, there have been rumours.”

Seeing the look on Clarke’s face, Kane is quick to clarify. “Not about prisoners, but about hidden areas; before, while we were in space, I mean.” He leads them to an empty table near where Indra had stood. Reserved for them, Jasper quietly informs her.

“You know Alpha station used to be a United States space station?” Kane receives nods all around. “Along with the Go-Sci ring, it was a combined civilian and military station. Some areas were restricted for civilians, but after Unity Day they were all opened up.” Kane breathes deeply for a moment, eyes still unfocused. “Except, there were rumours. Rumours that some military equipment remained.. Too dangerous or secretive to let people know about it. Some, like the arsenal of weapons on Alpha Station, was known about, and only available to the Council, but it was only the Chancellor who had access to the full archives.”

“When we were planning the Exodus Charter,” Kane winces, “Jaha made a few cryptic comments about some prototype technology, and that he wished that the US had sent up more.. At the time I thought he was just trying to lighten the mood, wishing we had more time.”

“But now?” Clarke interrupts the silence that’s fallen over the small group after a while.

“Now I can’t help but wonder where that ‘prototype’ technology would have been stored, and where Jaha would access the archives.” Kane nods at Clarke, a frown pulling at his features. “You’ve seen the Chancellor’s office. It’s an old living quarter, repurposed for use as an office. It wouldn’t have been secure enough for military use. I never thought about it before, but the area you mention must have a second office for all the truly sensitive information.”

“Is she OK? Anya?” Kane manages to focus back on the present. “Stupid question. She obviously isn’t, but will she be alright?”

Jackson hums for a moment, clearly considering all the medical angles and what he’s discovered of Anya’s treatment, but it’s Clarke that responds. “She will be. Eventually. It’s not my place to give details, but she’s no longer dying.” Jackson looks up sharply at that.

“What do you mean no longer dying?” He questions.

Clarke smirks, mirthful and full of answers to both asked and unasked questions. She pushes back her chair a little before standing and calling out for Monty and Raven to join them.

Her shout startles the room, but most people quickly dig back into the hearty stew and drinks they have been provided with, the delicious flavours coating Clarke’s tongue with every breath and making her itch for the hunt she’s promised Madi.

The arrival of not just Monty and Raven, but also Harper and Jacopo Sinclair swiftly claims Clarke’s focus and she sits back down, gesturing for them to take a seat.

“What the hell, Clarke?” Harper breaks the silence, staring at Clarke’s eyes before glancing at her braids and down over her toned body. Monty’s arm snakes around Harper’s waist, and she leans into him with a content sigh. “What the hell.” She practically whispers, but to Clarke she might as well have spoken normally.

Clarke ignores her for now, intending to get the discussion of Anya out of the way first. “We were just talking about Anya, the grounder that my mo- Abby had locked up. I assume Raven and Monty already told you where they found her?” Harper and Sinclair both agree, though it’s clear from their voices they’re confused about where Clarke is going with it.

“She was dying when I found her; was ready to, and she wanted to.” Clarke states it like a fact, and instinctively she knows her eyes pulsed slightly with her certainty. “She’ll be fine,” she confirms, seeing the concerned glances traded by Monty and Raven, “but it’ll be awhile before she’s back to normal.”

“Clarke, she was in a bad state when I looked her over, and yes if we hadn’t gotten her back here, she wouldn’t have lasted long… But you make it sound like it was urgent?” Jackson sounds confused, the words infused with a heavy doubt.

“Physically, she could have held on for, what, maybe a day more?” Clarke asks, getting a quick agreement from Jackson. “Maybe so, but Anya had been a captive for three months. She was ready to move on.”

Knowing they may have some trouble believing her, Clarke pauses for a moment to pick her words carefully. “She recognized me. Not as Clarke Griffin, but as something else.”

“Wanheda.” Raven’s whisper is loud enough for everyone to hear, and looking over, Clarke finds new-found understanding shining in those intelligent eyes.

“Exactly. Anya recognized me as Wanheda, but with how I’ve changed, she didn’t see me as Clarke Griffin at all.” Clarke confirms. “I know you all have questions, but bear with me.”

“Since the nuclear apocalypse, religion and mythology has changed. The people believe in a pantheon of spirits, with two at the forefront, Heda and Wanheda. Heda is known to reside within the Commander, granting them wisdom, knowledge and memories of past commanders.” Clarke ignores the disbelieving stares, though the near-silent scoff from Jackson is harder to overlook. “Wanheda is.. well. Wanheda is thought to only emerge during times of strife and conflict; of disaster. Translated, Wanheda means Commander of Death.”

“And Anya recognized you as Wanheda?” Raven injects, and Clarke is thankful for the interruption.

“She did. A little information about the spirits, is that they cause their host to have glowing eyes when active.” Everyone but Clarke, Monty, and Raven take a sharp breath, quickly making the connection.

“Lexa, the Commander, normally has green eyes. When Heda is active, they change to a burning orange, looking almost like flames. My eyes used to be blue.” Clarke smiles. “But that wasn’t my natural colour. Anya recognized me as Wanheda, because that’s who I am. She was dying and thought I was there to take her away. I could feel her slipping between my fingers, fading with every breath. It wasn’t until we were outside in the fresh air that she got better.”

The stunned expressions she’s faced with has Clarke worried. Knowing that Monty and Raven will be on her side is a relief, at least, but the adults could become problematic if they decide not to believe her. She attempts to push the thought aside, needing to get to the part that they’ll all understand. Survival.

“We’ll have time for questions later, but the important part is that Anya is a very highly ranked General in the Coalition. She reports directly to their Commander, who has thought her dead since Anya was shot after our escape from the Mountain.”

Kane frowns, immediately dropping the confusion in favour of putting his sharp analytical mind to work.

“It’s not really my place to tell, but you need to know how serious this is. Abby has held one of the highest members of the coalition prisoner for three months. Her assumed death was accepted as part of our mutual attacks at the time, but now? We’re one step away from breaking the alliance I have established with the Commander. If Anya had died in captivity, none of us would be alive right now.”

It’s a lie. Partially, at least. Clarke hopes that Lexa would have seen it as Abby’s actions, rather than the actions of an entire people. In any case, it’s not something they have to worry about any more, but if the threat of it keeps her people in line, then Clarke isn’t above using that to her advantage.

“Jasper mentioned we have to abide by the Coalition laws?” Kane changes the subject, aware of the potential issues this could cause. Thankful for the change, Clarke grabs onto it with a smile.

“Yeah, the alliance we forged before the attack on Mt. Weather was between me and Lexa. To her and the Coalition, I’m our leader.” With one hand, Clarke gestures at the crowd in the meeting hall. “These are our people, and if we want to fit in here on the ground, we need to adapt and learn. We’re so far behind, and we don’t exactly have a good standing at the moment. Leaving Arkadia behind will be a big help, and Lexa will help get us settled, but we need to travel to Polis soon.”

Clarke takes a deep breath, aware they’d been keeping this from the people within the Ark, in case of any leak.

“I’m removing Arkadia from the alliance. I.. You can’t all be safe, not with what Abby and Jaha are doing.”

Kane and Sinclair both wear understanding expressions, though not happy by any means.

“He’s not dead?” Harper cuts in.

“Unfortunately not.” Kane speaks up. “He came back the other day, and Abby gave him most of the guns, leaving only the pistols and a few rifles for the guards. Good for our escape, I guess, but I don’t even want to think about what he needed those guns for.”

“Kidnapping. Abby and Jaha were working with the Mountain Men in Mt. Weather.” Clarke’s voice has dropped, becoming practically arctic. “They weren’t just experimenting on our people, but on the Grounders too.”

Madi whines by her side, and Clarke knows it’s time to head out. The young girl has been incredibly patient so far, but over the last hour she’s begun to fuss around Clarke, full to bursting with energy.

“Sorry, I need to take Madi outside.” Warmth blossoms in Clarke’s chest at how Harper is draped over Monty, and she quickly locks eyes with both Monty and Raven “Can you two explain why Abby and Jaha are so interested in getting their hands on a Nightblood?” Clarke asks, fully aware that Raven understands exactly how much she can tell them.

“Sure. Go spend some time with your little monster, Griffin.” Raven shoots back, amusedly, though Clarke’s narrowing eyes have her gulping a second later.

————

_ “I think we need to brush up your training, Seken. Can’t have you disappearing on us again.” _

————

Thankfully Anya is spared the lecture because of Nyko’s famous soup. It’s an open secret that Indra loves it, and that Nyko makes it to distract Indra from tearing into the injured warriors in his care.

As her spoon lifts from the wooden bowl, full of tender strips of meat and more vegetables than Anya can name, she has to admit that it is a wonderful remedy against the chill that still lingers in her bones.

A satisfied grunt passes her lips unbidden, and she flushes slightly in embarrassment as her belly rumbles for  _ more _ . Nyko looks up from his own bowl with his beard arranged in that way she just knows conceals a smile.

_ “Slow, Anya. Slow.” _ He gently lectures her, with Indra chiming in her agreement. Both Lexa and Lincoln remain quiet by her bedside, and Anya is starting to itch from the inactivity; she feels exposed and weak without her weapons, but she knows that even if she had them, she’d be pretty much useless.

Giving in to both her healer’s and body’s demands, Anya  _ slowly  _ picks up another spoonful of the hearty broth. It chases the chill away, but it returns quickly, causing another shiver to travel through her.

Lincoln’s keen eyes follow the movement with sympathetic eyes, having been under the tender mercies of Skaikru himself. She hates how it feels. How she’s been reduced to this incompetent and flawed version of herself.

Another spoonful follows, but the rage and chill within her causes her to shake too much to handle it. Dropping the spoon into the bowl, she growls in defeat and places it none too gently on the table beside her.

The silence can’t last, and Anya knows that unless she suddenly falls ill again, the other will give her the silence they think she wants.

_ “How bad is it?” _ She addresses Nyko first, needing to get the bad news out of the way. She’d only received a brief summary before, but she feels far weaker than she should; unable to shake the image of an animal caught in a hunters trap for too long, having grown emaciated.

Nyko already has a plan for her recovery, she’s certain, but still he takes time to run his eyes over her again; prodding here and there to test her response. She lets him have the time to collect his thoughts and pick the words that won’t soothe her mind or tired body, no matter how kindly he picks them.

He seems to realise it as well, because a defeated sigh leaves him as he slumps in place, pushing his own bowl of broth away, scraping against the wooden table in the deathly quiet room.

_ “The Maunon took your blood. You have been shot by a Fayagon. Then, you were starved for three month, Anya.” _ He kindly doesn’t mention the numerous bruises from her beatings at the over-eager Guards. _ “Not to mention your loss of time, and this cold feeling you mentioned.” _ Nyko sounds worried, which is  _ never  _ good.

_ “Will I recover?” _ That’s what Anya wants to know. Needs to know, because otherwise, how will she ever take up her position as General of the Trikru army again? How will she serve her Heda?

He doesn’t hesitate, at least. _ “Yes. It will be slow, and I will be honest, I do not know how long it will take, but I am certain you will.”  _ He pauses for a moment, concern bleeding into his features, opening and closing his mouth a few times, aborting every attempt at speech.

_ “Tell her.” _ It’s Lexa that gives Nyko the push he needs.

_ “There is a doctor, a healer, among the escaped from Arkadia. He helped me during the trip to TonDC.” _ Anya recoils slightly at the thought of a Skaikru having tended to her.  _ “He was never alone with you, and Lincoln and I stayed with you the entire time.” _

She relaxes a little at that, especially with the gentle scout’s nod of agreement, but it still sits wrong with her. An itch she needs to scratch, but can’t reach.  _ “His opinion was the same as mine, that you will be fine, but that it will be slow.” _ Again he pauses, but only briefly. _ “Wanheda.. She was more worried. At first.” _

It comes back to Anya, then, in a flash of enclosing metal walls and the hiss of the door to her cell opening. The haze is back over her mind, focused on purple eyes at the door, and all she can feel is the certainty that  _ this is it. _

_ “I’m ready.” _ She croaks out, but it sounds too smooth. Too unhindered. That, and the heady warmth pulsing from the hand on her arm, into the mark beneath it, helps Anya pull free from the memory. Her vision changes from purple to soft orange, and her breath catches in her throat at the sight she hasn’t seen since finding Lexa with Costia’s decapitated head in her arms.

_ “What happened?” _ Anya manages to ask, not sure which version of the question she wants to have answered first.

Nyko leans close enough to whisper so that it’s only Anya that’ll hear, except she knows that Lexa will be able to hear it just fine. There’s no time to stop him, however.

_ “When Wanheda found you, she said you were ready to pass on. She could feel you slipping.”  _ Lexa’s gasp isn’t silent enough, but Anya’s furious glare stops her from saying anything.

_ “I was.” _ There’s no shame in admitting it to her healer, but that doesn’t mean she wants it to get out. Compared to what Lincoln had gone through at the hands of Wanheda and her delinquents, Anya’s torture had been far milder. Physically, at least.

It was the isolation and cold that got to her. The gnawing in her belly, and the desert growing in her throat.

_ No more. _

_ “You’re going to help me get better. I want to be better.” _ It’s a plea spoken with the same strength and determination Anya has used in the past when giving orders to her men.

Lexa’s hand tightens around her mark on Anya’s arm in response, knowing the demand was as much for her as it was Nyko.

————

The bed groans beneath her as Raven lets herself fall onto it, letting the last of her breath escape her in a heavy exhale upon impact. Letting the soft scent of dry hay and warm furs envelop her, Raven lets her aching limbs relax for the first time today.

It’s been a far too active day, and despite the numbing tea Nyko had provided her, Raven can still feel twinges of pain and discomfort lancing from her wounded hip up into her back. Her muscles are tense from stress and too much exertion; walking to the bunker and back in one day has been far too much for her injured body to take.

Helping their people to get settled had been a mistake, adding more exhaustion and pain to her already worn body. It’s not fair, but there’s nothing Raven can do to change it. Not now, not yet. Clarke has promised to help as soon as she can, but without Arkadia’s technology, she isn’t sure how Clarke will manage.

Clarke.

Despite her doubt and fear of what the future will bring; despite her uncertainty of ever getting better, Raven knows she can trust Clarke. It’s something she had realised earlier in the day; truly realised and accepted.

“Monty?”

A hum is the response she gets, and Raven can’t help but marvel at how close the two of them have grown. They’ve been friends for years, but the time on the ground has solidified it, becoming almost sibling-like.

Earlier, with Harper in his arms, Monty had practically glowed with joy, and Raven had had a hard time holding back her own happiness for the couple. It might be quick for them, but something precious like that should be cherished. She only hopes that one day she’ll be as lucky as Monty, and find someone to be happy with as well.

“Do you see this?” She’s hesitant. Hopeful. Slightly afraid.

Monty grasps her overturned wrist gently, tracing the skin gently in a pattern that gives away his answer. He knows it too, because he doesn’t bother giving a verbal response.

“Can I see yours?”

Pulling on the last dregs of energy in her system, Raven groans as she manages to roll over. Settling against the wooden headboard, she turns to Monty, who wears a fond smile.

He slowly rolls up the sleeve of his tattered shirt, having removed the outer layer provided to them by Nyko when they entered the house. It feels like ages to Raven, but moments later she spots a dark design on his inner arm, just below the elbow.

A celtic knot, with three points overlapping the central circle. A simple design, drawn with soft lines and a deep, almost black, ink. It shimmers slightly, a metallic silver sheen, — just like her own — in the soft light of the candles within their room.

“It’s real.” She sounds absent, even to her own ears. Reaching towards her other hand, Raven runs a thumb over the small Celtic knot on the underside of her wrist. There’s a sense of warmth and safety emanating from it; a comfortable impression of belonging, of family and home.

She wipes the tears from her eyes, and with a choked laugh lets out the thought that’s been running through her mind for longer than she wants to admit. “Fucking Griffin. Only she’d be able to come up with this madness.”

————

The moment Clarke steps foot outside the gates of TonDC, she feels herself relaxing. Nearly two months spent alone in the forest has made her more attuned with nature, and less comfortable with the crowds that come with villages and cities.

She still likes them. The bustle of everyone getting on with their tasks, living closely together. It’s wonderful and so much more than she ever expected as a child on the Ark, but now that she’s fully Wanheda again it’s hard to blend in. For some reason, she still hasn’t managed to control the glow of her eyes, and where in the past she could dim it to be barely noticeable, except in the dark, now she has barely any control at all.

It’s infuriating, being the centre of attention everywhere she goes. Sometimes, Clarke just wants to be a normal person; to be able to disappear into the throng of people in the market square, sitting around a campfire with friends and family, and eating freshly cooked food from the stalls lined up nearby.

_ One day. As soon as I get myself back under control. _

Beside her, Madi catches on to Clarke’s drifting thoughts. With the boundless energy that comes from sitting still too long, she runs circles around Clarke, yipping excitedly.

**_“Hunt. Hunt, Clarke! You promised!”_ **

Feeling freer than she has since arriving in TonDC, Clarke lets the smile reign free on her face. Looking down at the wolf by her side — her daughter — she laughs loudly, startling the guards by the gate.

_ “Then let’s run!” _

The words have barely left her mouth before Clarke sets off, slowly at first, at least for her, until they escape the watchful eyes of the guards. Keeping a careful watch on Madi, Clarke slowly speeds up. The abilities of Nightbloods continue to amaze her, as even with Madi’s smaller size — due to her age — she’s almost able to keep pace with Clarke.

Granted, Clarke isn’t sprinting or even running as fast as she can, but it’s still far faster than a normal human would be able to run. Probably, she thinks, faster than a normal wolf would be able to run.

The duo take their time leaving TonDC behind, feeling safe in the Trikru forest. With Clarke attempting to teach Madi the signs of the forest, they make a game of it. At first they simply run for the fun of it, letting the energy burn off them, while leaving as small of a trail as possible.

Then, when Madi is starting to pant a little from the exertion, they seek out the river for a small break and to get some much needed water. Clarke continues the few lessons she imparted during their trip to TonDC, pointing out animal trails as they move more slowly; a broken twig here, a half-intact imprint in the mud from a paw. She teaches Madi the smells of the forest, though those come more naturally to the wolf than Clarke herself. Still, with her own heightened senses, it’s not much of a difference.

They find several trails, but abandon the ones left behind by smaller animals without enough meat. Clarke wants to bring back a little offering to the people of TonDC, as thanks for putting up with their people. Madi agrees enthusiastically, repeating  **_“Big!”_ ** over and over, until Clarke has to shush and remind her that if they’re too loud, they’ll scare away the prey.

It’s Madi that finds the trail they want, spotting a large paw print that gives Clarke flashbacks to the delinquents' first days on the ground. She smiles viciously, before whispering quietly.

_ “Good job, Madi!” _

They follow the trail left behind by the panther, and Clarke thankfully notices the wind carries their scents away, so the large cat won’t be able to smell them before it’s too late.

Moving slower, so as not to eliminate any noise, they make their way up the hill and through the forest’s underbrush.

Madi’s slightly better sense of smell causes her to freeze a moment before Clarke notices it. Again thanking her luck for the current wind, Clarke and Madi slow even further as they creep closer. They come across the ironic sight of the panther stalking a prey of its own, slowly nearing a young doe that grazes quietly on the lush grass.

If the cat had been looking in their direction, Clarke might have been able to take it down with a well-aimed throwing knife, but with it’s back turned, it’s not possible. She needs to get closer, within range with her sword.

Knowing Madi will want a piece of the action, but too worried about her safety to let her, Clarke jumps into a sprint, drawing one of her swords as she nears the panther. Madi tries to catch up, but hadn’t expected Clarke to sprint forward, and not that fast.

The panther must have heard the swish of her sword being drawn, because it immediately begins to turn with a vicious snarl, baring a set of fangs that shouldn’t be that large.

_ Another mutation. Great. _

Unwilling to draw this out, and needing to finish it before Madi catches up, Clarke gets up close to the animal that rears up in challenge. With the sword in her hand, Clarke slashes towards the animal. She twirls, drawing her second sword with the other hand and thrusts it squarely into its chest, but not before the paw comes down across her armour, ripping deep gouges in the tough leather around her shoulder.

Jerking slightly at the power of the blow, Clarke steps back as quickly as she can, withdrawing her sword at the same time. The cat lands on the ground with a wheeze, still alive, but dying quickly.

_ “Stop there Madi, it’s still alive.” _

This is the part that Clarke hates, watching the animal suffer.  _ “We don’t let them suffer, Madi. We need the animals for food, but we have to respect them too.” _ Clarke draws the dagger Lexa had given her, moving closer to the wheezing cat, whose eyes are watery and pained. It knows that it’s dying.

_ “Shh.” _ She strokes the thick fur of the animal, hand digging in to find the ridges on its neck. To find the soft spot.

**_“May we meet again.”_ ** It slips out without thought, just as her dagger slides between the vertebrae of the panther’s neck, severing it’s spine with a precise stab and slash. Heart heavy with another kill, Clarke watches the prideful animal’s eyes slide shut for the last time.

Madi doesn’t seem to fully understand Clarke’s solemn mood, but it must be infectious, as she stays quiet for a few moments, until coming closer to rub up against Clarke’s leg.

**_“Can we go home now?”_ **

_ “Yeah, Madi. Let’s go home.” _ Clarke sighs, but smiles down at the girl she’s come to care for so much, in such a short period of time. She moves closer to the massive panther, starting to wonder how they’ll get it back home. At least, until she remembers her new strength.

It takes a while, and leaves Clarke with the panther’s blood running down her side, but she manages to lift it up onto her back, wrapped wrapped around her shoulders, and holding onto the legs.

It turns out the panther is just too unwieldy to carry for long, and Clarke silently berates herself for even trying, after having struggled for a while. She lets it down gently. Making sure not to stray too far, Clarke locates a few large fallen branches, while explaining to Madi how she’s going to put the panther onto them.

Soon enough the makeshift sled is completed, and though the branches are only tied together with smaller — softer — freshly cut shoots, it holds firm when Clarke finishes moving their catch onto it.

It might help, but it also slows them down. The sun has dipped below the tree cover, casting the forest into a deep shade that doesn’t cause Clarke or Madi any issues at all; Clarke’s vision simply turns into shades of grey, allowing plenty of detail to navigate with.

The first splashes of colour in her vision appear when they get closer to TonDC. The gate is still open, but the warriors guarding it are preparing to close it. To avoid startling them, she purposefully makes more noise, aided by the crunch and crashes of the makeshift sled behind her.

They’re stopped briefly, but Clarke’s eyes aren’t concealed and she’s quickly recognized, with the warriors letting her and Madi inside without any trouble, though they eye the fallen panther with awe in their eyes.

Madi takes it like a compliment, prancing around the sled like a proud hunter taking down their first prey. She keeps it up all the way down the torch-lined streets and adds in excited yapping as they get closer to the cooking fires and the sounds of people enjoying an evening of safety.

The crowd goes silent when they spot Wanheda and her haul. Lexa abandons her seat near Indra and a pale Anya — who Clarke thinks should definitely still be in bed — meeting Clarke and Madi in the middle of the crowd.

_ “My thanks, Heda, for your hospitality to my people.” _ She gestures at Madi and then the massive panther behind her. _ “As you can see, my companion has completed her first hunt.” _ The amusement that laces her voice is plain for everyone to hear, but only Lexa understands the implications of Madi’s involvement.

_ “I’m sure.” _ Lexa’s mouth stretches into a proud smile and her eyes crinkle slightly in mirth, as she inclines her head to congratulate the — to everyone else — small wolf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m _slightly_ late with this chapter, and for that I’m sorry. I ended up restructuring this and the next chapter slightly, because the discussion with Kane and Jackson, as well as the hunt that they went on ending up larger than expected.
> 
> Hope you enjoy it. I’d love to hear what you think 😊


	28. Ch 28 - A Light Breeze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anya deals with a frustrating side-effect of having been held captive inside for so long, while Clarke begins to make up for a promise she’s made.

_ “You’re going to help me get better. I want to be better.” _

————

It hangs in between them, tangible, waiting for the first brave soul to reach out and burst the bubble of silence. To acknowledge that, yes, Anya is well aware of her weakness; to acknowledge that she had wanted to die.

Regret is a feeling that Anya has attempted to keep at bay most of her life, and has even been fairly successful at it. But now, her internal defences and methods of ignoring her past failures have been battered into submission by wave after wave of regret; of what-ifs and the knowledge that she’s let those she loves go through life without acknowledging that connection. Tris died not knowing how proud Anya truly was of her youngest Seken.

All at once, they speak up over one another, forming a cacophony of noise where before there was awkward silence. The vehement agreements, along with the silent support of Lexa’s hand on her arm, soothes Anya’s frayed nerves nonetheless.

It’s a start, but it's not enough. Far from it. She can’t turn back; can’t immediately go back to being the strong warrior that she used to be.

But this? This she can do.

It’s slow at first, and Anya digs deep for the training ingrained into her since childhood as she swings first one leg, and then the other, over the side of the cot; ignoring Lexa and Indra’s protests. Nyko’s knowing glance and silence tells her all she needs to know; he knows what she wants, and he knows that to stop her would only make it worse.

_ “I’m going outside. I haven’t seen the sky for far too long.” _

That stops Lexa’s protests short, though Indra takes a bit more convincing to calm down. Quietly, Anya assures them both that she just can’t be inside. She uses fewer words, not truly capturing the panic that’s slowly settling within her as the walls close in on all sides; as the ceiling descends on her, and the floor rushes up to crush her.

A heavy and supportive grip on her arm steers her outside, thankfully making no mention of her rapid breathing and vacant eyes. Lexa practically holds Anya up, but makes it seem like they’re just wrapped in a half-embrace.

It takes a few moments, and Lexa lets Anya pretend that everything is fine, but eventually Anya manages to stand on her own; shakily, but she’s standing. Nyko’s eyes burn into her back, and there’s no doubt in Anya’s mind that the healer is following every minute movement and twitch she makes; every little shake as the chill of the evening settles on her skin, aided by the persistent feeling of cold within her.

Head swivelling, Anya takes in the familiar and comforting surroundings of TonDC. It sinks in, then, as she registers each breath of crisp air flowing freely. The crinkle of leaves in the breeze overhead, and the bustle of warriors walking around nearby. All things that she had been able to hear inside, but seeing it, hearing it, and  _ feeling  _ it is what Anya needed.

Her gaze is torn away by the gentle flicker of flames from the town square, and just imagining the warmth being exuded by the cooking fires has her moving automatically. Haltingly, and with Lexa’s hand landing on her back in a companionable offer of support, Anya makes her way towards her goal.

The warmth is far better than Anya could ever have imagined; it chases away the chill, leaving it like the whisper of a shadow on her skin. No words are exchanged as she shuffles the wooden stump she’s claimed forward. She wants to get closer. Needs to get warmer; to absorb as much heat as possible.

————

She pretends. Pretends that the hunger gnawing at her again — so soon after the last small meal — doesn’t upset her. It’s not like she can eat anything, even if she wants to. Nyko had been clear.

Instead, Anya takes the anger that simmers just under her skin — the anger that feels too much like hopelessness — and re-targets it. Uses it to hone her blunt edges back into prickly sharp points.

Her body might be weak, but Anya has always prided herself on being able to observe everything in sight, and keep track of even the smallest details. Both a natural skill, and a learned inclination from her training as a warrior, it has helped keep her alive this long.

Even now, with Indra and Lexa’s stoic bodies next to her, Anya is alert. Her head swivels between them as they speak, politely and quietly following the conversation as Indra explains what she’s seen of Arkadia in the last months, and Lexa explains how Polis is in an uproar over Azgeda. Again. They know what she’s doing, though. Indra has trained her, and Anya trained Lexa, so her polite act doesn’t fool them for a second.

If you asked her, Anya would explain that she’s just being cautious; just observing the enemies in their midst, looking for any potential attacks or threats. A prudent cause of action, and one expected of a General of her rank.

What’s not expected is the anxiety that’s been coursing through Anya since the moment she laid eyes on the first Skaikru in TonDC. Logically, she’d known they would be here; had been told the exact numbers and the composition of their group by Indra, and had even spoken with Clarke kom Skaikru herself.

_ “They’re terrified.” _

It’s a surprise to herself when she interrupts Lexa mid-sentence, but she doesn’t apologize; not when the truth has just presented itself to her. Because, the crowd of Skaikru are sitting huddled together around two of the larger fires, a clear split between the older adults that Anya doesn’t recognize, and the younger ones that fell from the sky first.

_ “They are.”  _ Indra confirms slowly, unsure what Anya is thinking.

Anya focuses on a few faces that she recognizes, all of them younger. Harder. More like the people she recognizes as her own, but their stature has diminished much like her own. Somehow, though she’s not sure how it’s possible, the Skaikru that fell first have become even more frail than they were, but now they carry expressions that contain a flinty surety.

A determination that she’s seen before, in war-torn villages after a raid; after too many have lost their lives, and with the young sicker than they should be. It’s the still-shocked acceptance the morning after, when the sun shines down on the blood-soaked earth, and the bodies have to be moved; it’s the expression right before the pyres are lit, and the path forward can be trod with clean feet once more.

It’s a sobering expression to see on the faces of those you consider your enemy.

_ “They fear what’s to come.” _ Anya dolly notes.

_ “Don’t you?” _ Indra asks, as Lexa gets up from her own wooden stump.

Anya can only nod, because yes, she fears what’s to come as well. It’s been a persistent thought, nagging at her since the first Skaikru fell to the ground, and has only grown more insistent since then.

Normally Anya doesn’t place much faith in rumours and superstition. She’s well aware that spirits exist, having trained the Commander herself, and having been witness to how Heda settled within Lexa when the previous Commander died. But now that Wanheda walks among them again, Anya can’t help but wonder at the timing. Did she come back for the Maunon? The Skaikru, even if she’s one of them? Or is it something else?

The quiet makes her realise that her focus has become too sharp; that she’s missed whatever’s happened. Looking around, she finds Wanheda standing in front of a slain panther, with deep claw marks running down her pauldron and down her chest armour. Beside her, the little wolf Anya had seen earlier is practically prancing around.

_ “My thanks, Heda, for your hospitality to me people.” _

Clarke’s — Wanheda’s — gesture to the wolf, shifts Anya’s focus, but the words that follow cause her eyes to widen in disbelief.

_ “As you can see, my companion has completed her first hunt.” _

That.. That is suspiciously specific. It brings up specific memories of words murmured in utter secret inside the commander’s throne room in Polis. Secrets that Anya had only become privy to because her charge was a Nightblood.

One of which was a very specific tradition.

But that can only mean one thing, and Lexa’s uncharacteristic behaviour — smiling and nodding to the wolf — only confirm her thoughts. Anya is one of the few people that knows Lexa well enough to know which expressions are reserved for those she cares about.

Wanheda clearly knows, too.

————

_ “I’m sure.” _ Lexa’s mouth stretches into a proud smile and her eyes crinkle slightly in mirth, as she inclines her head to congratulate the — to everyone else — small wolf.

————

The way Lexa’s mouth curls up with a gentle curve, and the way her eyes become a touch softer as she looks down at Madi is too much. Clarke has to move quickly to stifle the automatic sharp intake of breath that takes her by surprise.

She doesn’t want to deal with it now; isn’t even sure that she’s ready to address the feelings blossoming for the girl that’s held a position as both an ally and an enemy. Her treacherous heart, however, forces her to acknowledge the pull towards Lexa. It’s undeniable, and if Clarke is honest with herself, it’s always been there.

It’s not the right time. There’s still too much she needs to do, like help her wayward people get to safety and help them properly integrate with the coalition. They need to get to Polis. Clarke might have to address it, and soon if the way her heart is beating is anything to go by, but not yet.

_ “The meat is for everyone, and your craftsmen can have anything but the fur. That’s for Madi to have.” _ Clarke forces herself back to reality.

Lexa seems to understand; instead of responding, simply gesturing for Clarke to follow and leading them off towards an area where food is being prepared. It’s a matter of moments for Lexa to explain the situation, and the cook quickly barks out an order to the crowd. A small group approaches quickly, explaining that they just need to fetch their tools, and that they will make sure to preserve as much of the fur as possible.

With that, Lexa turns back around and sets a quick pace towards Anya, who’s watching them with an unreadable expression. Clarke hurries to catch up, with Madi still excitedly prancing between them, though casting longing glances at the animal they left behind.

_ “How is she?” _ Clarke asks, needing to know.

Lexa hesitates before speaking, though her stride never falters. _ “She is… troubled.” _ She doesn’t seem happy with her choice of word, but simply shrugs it off. Clarke puts a hand on Lexa’s shoulder, who immediately freezes in place. Afraid she’s overstepped, Clarke quickly drops it, having only wanted to provide comfort.

_ “I’m sorry. If there’s anything I can do…” _

_ “It is not your fault, Klark. We have seen it before, in warriors recovering from captivity. We will help her.” _ Lexa turns her head, eyeing Clarke searchingly.  _ “Anya will never admit it, but she believes strongly in us. In Heda and Wanheda.” _ She swallows.  _ “She, like many others, thought Heda had abandoned me. It will take time to open up, but perhaps it would help if you would listen.” _

Clarke isn’t sure Lexa is only talking about Anya, but doesn’t have time to consider it before Lexa rushes on.

_ “Come see me in the morning. Both of you.” _ Lexa’s eyes flicker down to Madi, unshielded fondness shining through.  _ “It’s time Madi begins her training.” _

Lexa sets back off towards Anya, not bothering to check if Clarke and Madi are following. She’d hear them if they tried, and Clarke is tempted to do just that; tempted to ask Lexa why Madi needs training  _ now _ , but the sight of Jackson getting up to speak with Jasper reminds Clarke of something important. Something she’d meant to ask the doctor about earlier in the day, and something that cannot be put off any longer.

“Jackson, do you have a moment?”

Ignoring the confused look from Jasper, and the way Jackson is beginning to ask a question, Clarke simply grabs him by the arm and drags him off to a quiet corner, where she doesn’t think anyone will overhear them.

“Clarke, what i-”

“Raven. I know she was told some bullshit about why Abby wouldn’t help her, but what can we do?” Clarke rushes out. “I don’t want her on painkillers for the rest of her life.”

Jackson sags in her grasp, having thought something more urgent had come up, though a frown quickly replaces relieved features.

“I don’t know..” He begins, hesitant. “Without the equipment in Arkadia… and even then, so much got damaged.”

“But you could?” Clarke implores.

“It would be risky, but yes I think I could get the bullet out.” He sighs. “But Clarke, I don’t think Abby would let us just waltz back in.”

“Obviously.” She scoffs. “The medical suite in Mt. Weather is much better anyway.”

————

Ryder waits for Clarke and Madi by Lexa’s small house, letting them inside with just a friendly smile, and closing the door behind them. He doesn’t enter, but Clarke has no doubt that he’s taken up guard outside.

_ “You came.” _ Lexa’s voice rings out from the small room she’d been in last time Clarke dropped off Madi.

_ “You didn’t exactly explain why you wanted to train Madi.” _

_ “She didn’t mention it?” _

Lexa sounds confused, looking up from her cross-legged position on the floor, resting against the aged sofa. Madi immediately bounds over, making too many noises that not even Clarke can decipher what she’s saying. One thing’s for sure though, Madi is excited.

_ “I offered to teach her how to control the change.” _ Lexa offers up, hearing no response from Clarke.

Shock is the first thing that Clarke feels. Logically, it makes sense, but she hasn’t expected Lexa to want to share that with both of them. She’s barely even known about this Nightblood ability for three weeks, and now Lexa is… what?

_ “Okay.” _ Clarke begins, unsure how much to ask. How much she’s allowed to know, because even though she’s Wanheda, it’s obvious to her that the Nightbloods don’t want her to know everything. It’s sensible, actually. What she doesn’t know, she can’t accidentally misuse.

_ “You can stay, Klark, don’t worry.”  _ Lexa’s tone is slightly smug, but so  _ soft  _ and  _ caring _ , like she knows how much it pains Clarke to leave Madi behind; as if she knows more about the two of them than they do.

She probably does.

_ “Take a seat.” _

Madi obediently drops down into a seated position, already fixated on Lexa. Clarke shakes her head at the sight, smile tugging at her lips against her will.

Clarke takes one look at the seemingly comfortable sofa, but decides to follow Lexa’s lead and takes a cross-legged position on the floor.  _ “We need to talk afterwards.” _ Clarke quickly ventures, remembering her discussion with Dr. Jackson the night before. _ “I.. We need to take a trip to the Maun-de.” _

Lexa straightens at that, but doesn’t unfurl from her position, and stares at Clarke with a loaded expression for a moment.  _ “I’m bringing Lincoln and Alexis.”  _ She turns back to Madi, who’s begun to squirm in impatience.

_ “Now then. The first thing to do is to relax.” _ Lexa lets her voice drop into a deeper register and adopts a slower cadence, as if giving a long-remembered and rehearsed lecture.

Clarke silently observes how Lexa remains focused on Madi, gentle but so observant; notices how she’s completely still, breathing softly and deeply. Unconsciously Clarke continues to mirror Lexa’s movements, shifting herself to adopt the same stance, resting against the chair across from Lexa.

_ “You are yourself.” _ Lexa continues, slowly.  _ “That never changes. You only change how you are. What you are.” _

Clarke tunes out Lexa, enjoying the comfortable atmosphere between the three of them far more than she thought she would. She’s relaxed, more than she has been since running from her actions at Mt. Weather. Sure, rescuing her people has lifted a weight off her shoulders, but this is different.

This is deeper. An active comfort, rather than the absence of stress.

_ “You know what you look like now. You have felt the power of your form, running through the forest, and you have adjusted to your new senses.” _

It’s.. Clarke struggles to describe it, even to herself, but as Madi seems to hang on every word spoken by Lexa, Clarke feels it’s only respectful to listen; to follow along.

Although, with every calm — deep — breath in, Clarke can’t help but wonder what Lexa’s form is. With every breath out, she imagines a different form. A large wolf, with looks based on Madi’s brown fur, and with bright green eyes. Maybe a raven, wise and intelligent, striking with every worthwhile opportunity that presents itself.

_ “You know who you are. You know what you are.” _

Clarke’s vision begins to blur slightly, though she doesn’t even notice it, focused as she is on the lilting words.

A familiar scent builds around her, comforting and rich, warm with the promise of comfortable weather. The wind carries with it the notes of leaves rustling on the trees in the distance, and Clarke can feel it caressing the blades of grass around her.

Opening eyes that Clarke doesn’t remember shutting, she stares out over her lush meadow; the sky illuminating everything with a soothing purple.

_ Oh. _

Somehow, Clarke hadn’t noticed them before, but Lexa and Madi are sitting in front of her, both with their eyes closed. Lexa’s mouth continues to move, forming words that Clarke can feel more than hear, with no sound leaving her lips.

The most striking thing, however, isn’t the fact that Madi and Lexa have joined Clarke in her home, but that they are glowing.

Not their eyes, but their very skin.

Patches of sky-blue swirl over Madi’s skin, caressing her lazily, while Lexa’s skin is a patchwork of deep greens and fiery orange.

That’s when Clarke realises that both of them are human, or appear to be. Madi looks so familiar that she hadn’t noticed it at first. Still facing Lexa, sitting cross-legged, Madi’s long brown hair runs softly down her naked back.

Clarke gasps, then feels herself repeat the gasp as the world warps and twists until she’s back in Lexa’s sitting room, a very human Madi sitting in front of her.

A very young and very cold, naked, Madi.

The gasp pulls Lexa from her trance, trained senses warning her of a potential threat, but she calms the moment she spots Clarke’s surprise, and the young girl sitting between them.

_ “Well done, Madi!” _ Lexa reaches up to the sofa to grab the thick fur lying across it, and quickly hands it out in front of her, but doesn’t move to wrap it around Madi. Clarke takes the hint, swiftly surging forward, and while showering Madi in praise, wraps her up in the warm fur, before pulling her in for a tight hug.

Looking up at Lexa, she finds the tears in her eyes matched, and mouths a quiet _ thank you _ . It’s her pose that makes Clarke pause. The slight movement towards Madi, when Clarke had taken the fur from her, and the miniscule trembling of her lip that she doesn’t think Lexa is even aware of.

Thinking up a storm of curses about her traitorous heart, Clarke unwraps an arm from Madi, holding it open in a silent invitation for Lexa.

An invitation that’s answered by a slender hand joining hers. Shifting Madi a little, Clarke allows Lexa to lean onto her side, with Madi held protectively between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: “I’ll have this done by 5pm”  
> Also me: “I’ll have this done by midnight, I promise”
> 
> Me, at 2am: “One day I’ll learn not to make promises.” 
> 
> Well. Here’s the chapter, I guess. 🤷♀  
> A good mix of some light angst from Anya, and some heart-warming fluff that I’ve been waiting to write since I introduced Madi to the story. FINALLY.


	29. Ch 29 - A Blue Descent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Facing old demons to help Raven, Clarke leads the group to the tomb that is Mt. Weather, uncertain what they’ll find within.

An invitation that’s answered by a slender hand joining hers. Shifting Madi a little, Clarke allows Lexa to lean onto her side, with Madi held protectively between them.

————

For once, the silence between them is like a comfortable blanket. It’s the warmth after a cold and miserable day in the forest; something that has been happening far too regularly in recent weeks. It’s the feeling of being at peace, with no anxiety or worry about things to do.

No people trapped in a metal village to rescue, and no ongoing preparations to storm a bunker underneath a mountain. No heated words trapped and enforced by wills of unyielding metal.

It’s something that can’t last, Clarke knows. It’s a fleeting moment, peaceful and far too quiet. It’s natural and oh so wonderful, but it’s not  _ hers _ . The moment belongs to the girl in her arms, though Clarke isn’t quite sure which of the girls she truly means.

Moving slowly, so as not to startle Madi, Clarke unwinds her arm and begins to check over the once-again human. She’s dead to the world, snoring so softly that it wouldn’t be audible to anyone else; the furs Lexa produced keeping Madi warm in the morning chill that permeates the room.

_ “She will be tired for a while.” _ Lexa’s voice breaks the quiet.  _ “The first shift is always draining. It is surprising she managed at all, actually.” _

Lexa looks so different like this, sitting on the floor and leaning softly against Clarke. She doesn’t look like a warlord or a public figure, leading thousands upon thousands of people. Without her well-known warpaint and armour, she looks like just another girl.

It’s a jarring thought, because Lexa isn’t just another girl; a thought that makes Clarke realise that this is the first time she’s seen Lexa with her guard truly down.

Even before the assault on Mt. Weather, back in Lexa’s tent when there had been that one charged and heated moment between them. Even when Lexa’s throat had bobbed with unspoken emotion, and even when her eyes had softened, there had still been a solid wall between them.

Lexa was the Commander, the leader of the Coalition. And Clarke? Well, back then Clarke had just been a shell of herself; a girl that had the fortunate misfortune to fall from the sky in a sea of flames. A girl with cutting words and empty promises.

Now though, Lexa is still herself, is still Lexa. More, but somehow less at the same time. At this moment she’s just a girl with no trace of fiery orange in her eyes. No rigid stance or cool demeanour showing off her station.

It’s far too endearing. Far too inviting. Clarke manages to catch herself just as she begins to lean closer, concealing her realisation and sharp breath with a slight chuckle.

_ “All she does is sleep.”  _ Clarke adds a moment later, noticing Lexa’s raised brow.  _ “She’s always curling up near me. Always looking for places to nap.” _

It’s then that Lexa seems to notice their closeness, eyes going blank for just a fraction of a moment, before dropping down momentarily. She lets them drop further, from Clarke’s lips to the young Nightblood nestled between them.

Lips scrunching up in thought, Lexa examines Madi carefully, looking for anything and everything, though Clarke isn’t sure if there’s anything in particular that catches her interest.

_ “It is not unheard of, especially in one so young.” _ Lexa explains.  _ “I was seven when I had my first shift..” _ She trails off, no doubt lost in memories.

Madi stretches between them, whining in her sleep, before cuddling closer to Lexa. The movement seems to snap Lexa out of it, her arms automatically pulling Madi closer, missing the fond smile appearing on Clarke’s face.

_ “You wanted to visit Mt. Weather?” _ Lexa asks.

It’s like falling head first into an icy river and feeling the sharp sting of a slap all at once. It sobers Clarke immediately, and she shakes her head negatively as fast as she can.

_ “Want to? No, absolutely not. If I could avoid it, I’d never go back.” _ She rushes out, the memories threatening to seep past the defences she’s constructed deep within her mind, where she’s locked them all away.  _ “But we need to. For Raven. Jackson, our healer, needs to use the equipment in the base to help her.” _

_ “Very well. But, as I said, I will be joining you.” _ Lexa brooks no argument, not that Clarke is willing to give her one.  _ “The Coalition does not trust Skaikru, for good reason, and they would have my head if I did not accompany you.” _

There’s something that goes unsaid, a worrying undercurrent to Lexa’s words that causes a spark to ignite within Clarke. Causes slowly glowing embers of anger to re-ignite.

_ “They threatened you?” _ Clarke seethes, surprised at her own reaction. From the way Lexa jerks back a little, arms tightening protectively around Madi, she’s surprised too.

_ “Not as such.”  _ Lexa hurries to explain, an odd expression flickering on her face. _ “There has been some unrest. Questions about my decision at the Maun-de. It is nothing I cannot handle.” _ She ends on a steely note, putting on some of her Commander persona.

_ “You should get ready, Klark, we need to be back in Polis in a week, to speak with the Coalition leaders about Skaikru.” _

Clarke knows how to read between the lines; can hear the intonation and lack of warning for the worry it is. They don’t actually have time to go to Mt. Weather is what Lexa is trying to say. Instead they should be spending their time on getting Clarke’s people ready for the long trip back to Polis.

It’s a full days ride, with trained riders and well-rested horses. With a group as large as the one they rescued from Arkadia, and being on foot, it will take much longer.

Grasping at the last threads of comfort in the air, Clarke sighs and levels Lexa with a loaded stare, eyes flicking down to Madi and back up again.

_ “I’ll send Ryder to get us some horses. Go get your friend and the healer.” _

Clarke can only nod as she closes the door gently behind her, leaving the hallway and exiting the house. She stops only to gesture for Ryder that Lexa had requested his presence, and then she’s off running to find Monty and Raven.

————

Clarke pushes through the entrance to Nyko’s house, weighed down by the knowledge of their destination. She doesn’t want to go back; doesn’t want to face them. The bodies left behind as proof of her actions. Despite having come to terms with her decision to sacrifice their people for her own, it still sits heavily in her gut; an uncomfortable and gnawing sensation.

“Monty, you got a sec?”

She peers through the doorway, expecting to see him sitting beside Raven, tinkering with his tablet. That’s the most common position Clarke has found them in for the last few days, but to her surprise Raven is the only inhabitant in the room. An infectious smile is thrown her way, though Raven quickly pulls it into a frown and gags exaggeratedly.

“He’s busy,” Raven deadpans, “with Harper.”

“Ah.” Clarke is happy for him, she really is, but the timing couldn’t be more inconvenient.

“What’d you need anyway?”

Clarke only barely manages to smother the grimace threatening to take over her features, but by the look Raven gives her, something must have slipped through.

“We’re going to Mt. Weather.” The words spill from her in a rush, and she fights the impulse to fidget in place. She’s Wanheda. She’s better than this. Besides, she’s already faced the dead within the mountain once.

_ Why is this so hard? _

Clarke hadn’t wanted to give Raven any false hope, but there’s no getting around the truth now. It’s also the easiest way to convince Raven to join them, and the trip would be kind of a waste without her.

“Jackson said he’d be willing to try and help you,” Clarke begins, “but he can’t do it here. He needs old-world equipment, and that leaves us with Mt. Weather…” Suddenly feeling like she’s intruding in Raven’s space, almost like she’s an unwelcome visitor, Clarke leans against the wall by the door for support, and shifts her stance slightly; looking away and taking in the room as casually as she can manage.

It’s messy, but that’s nothing new. Monty’s bed is made and doesn’t look like it’s been slept in at all, though with Raven’s mention of him being busy that’s not really a surprise. Light streams in through the window, but all Clarke can see through the imperfect glass are slightly distorted trees just a short distance from the townhouse.

She really should have brought Madi with her. That’d have been a good distraction. But, then again, Wanheda carrying a young child through TonDC might be even more unusual than her walking around with a wolf-

“He can help me?”

Clarke pretends not to notice the warbled sound of Raven’s voice, but swifly gives up her space by the wall and sits down on the bed beside Raven, being careful not to jostle her leg. Nyko had said she’d been in pain since their walk back to TonDC, but she hadn’t shown it yesterday.

Clearly indicating her actions, Clarke lets a hand drop to Raven’s leg and begins to massage the tense muscles of her thigh slowly, nodding at the same time.

“He said he’ll try.” Clarke explains. “You didn’t see it during the attack, but their Medical section is very well equipped. Probably better than Arkadia’s ever was, honestly.”

There’s a pregnant pause as Raven digests that, finally gulping when it sinks in that it’s nothing more than a chance. She looks up, and her hand snaps out to hold Clarke’s wrist.

“I can’t walk.” Raven admits quietly.

Clarke only hums, because Nyko had warned her of that as well. The trip to Mt. Weather is long, several hours on foot. It’s unacceptable with the timeline that Lexa mentioned.

“We’ll be riding, and you won’t be alone, I promise.” Clarke doesn’t explain that it’s only to keep Raven safe; doesn’t mention her own worries and constant hesitation about making the trip. Raven is too intelligent for empty platitudes or excuses, so Clarke doesn’t bother trying.

Instead, she waits patiently for Raven to release the tight grip on her wrist. When it finally goes slack, Clarke gently pries herself out of her grasp. Getting off the bed, she holds out her hand for Raven to latch onto instead.

“Come on, we don’t have much time.”

———

Walking to the central Healers’ house by the training grounds takes longer than Clarke would have liked. Despite her injured leg and tense muscles, Raven puts up a tough façade, pretending the pain isn’t debilitating. Pretending she can walk.

As Raven stumbles just a few steps from Nyko’s house, gripping tightly to Clarke’s arm to steady herself, Clarke takes matters into her own hands.

Heaving Raven up into a bridal carry, Clarke ignores the heated complaints coming from her friend, focusing instead on how that one tense line on her face eases out. Notices how Raven goes quiet and pliant in her arms after a few moments, when the pain starts subsiding.

People are watching. They always are; always have been, even when Clarke wasn’t known as Wanheda. She barely registers their eyes on her any longer, having classified it as nothing more than idle curiosity.

Raven isn’t quite so used to the attention, better used to the dry shade of the Engineering section and the Mech Bay. She’s used to slip by without much noticed, except from those that know of her skills as a mechanic.

“You’ll be better soon.” Clarke says. “Then we can pretend I never carried you like this.” A light laugh escapes her when Raven’s eyes narrow threateningly, happy to see that at least the pain isn’t completely overpowering.

“Yeah well, you just hope the Commander doesn’t see us like this.” Raven snarks right back, hitting the exact topic that Clarke isn’t ready to talk about, or even to think about. The laughter dies out immediately, and she picks up her pace, steering them towards the gathering crowd outside the Healers’ house.

Luckily Nyko intercepts them, carrying a wooden mug with a concoction that makes Clarke’s nose itch from afar. Before Raven has a chance to continue, he’s pressing the mug to her lips, gently but demanding.

“Drink.”

Raven’s face scrunches up at the smell, and Clarke doesn’t blame her at all as its smell is a cloying odour; like rotten leaves and too-sweet flowers. She makes a mistake by opening her mouth, attempting to deny the drink, but Nyko simply takes the opportunity to tip the mug in. She gives up and drinks it as quickly as possible, while Nyko throws a victorious smirk at Clarke.

“She’s just like our warriors. Tough, but afraid of healers.” He chuckles before turning around and heading over towards Anya, sitting beside the entrance under a thick fur.

Once again ignoring Raven’s protestations, Clarke carries her towards the waiting group, noticing that Monty and Harper are practically leaning against each other, and Clarke can’t help but smile at them.

With Nyko’s painkillers starting to kick in, Raven has relaxed a bit in Clarke’s arms, and she doesn’t protest as she’s handed over to Jackson’s care.

Clarke steps away, letting the doctor check her over, while gathering the rest of the group around her. “Alright, as Jackson no doubt told you all, we’re going to Mt. Weather for some supplies.” The real reason lies behind her, obviously being checked over, but nobody calls her out on it.

“For good reason, the Coalition is wary of us, so it will only be a small group, and the Commander will join us with a few of her warriors.” Clarke explains, carefully scanning the crowd for any potential issues. She finds nothing but a vague sense of worry and confusion.

“She’s been gracious enough to let us use some of their horses-“ Just as Clarke mentions the horses, Ryder rounds the corner with a small group of people following, each guiding two horses with loose leads.

A smattering of noise rises up from the crowd of Skaikru, especially the adults, who might not have seen horses before. Certainly not up close like this. Some are fearful, but most are excited at the sight of the beautiful animals.

Clarke takes the opportunity to speak with the small group leaders around her, quickly agreeing that Kane will be staying behind to take care of the Skaikru. Harper quickly speaks up, throwing a careful look at the nearest horse, and volunteers to stay behind to make sure the Delinquents aren’t feeling left out either. Monty looks disappointed, but he clearly sees the value in having someone from each group.

It’s decided that Monty and Jasper will go along, due to their intimate knowledge of Mt. Weather and their help in bringing it down. Jackson will be caring for Raven, while Sinclair will come along to help with any technical issues that might come up.

Ryder leaves the group of Sekens behind, stepping closer to Clarke and gesturing for her to follow him. She follows him into the Healers’ House, absently noticing that Anya has left her perch outside. He leads them to Anya’s room and opens the door for her to enter.

_ “Nomon! (Mother!)” _ Madi’s tired but excited voice calls out, for once using words that Clarke recognizes as Trigedasleng, rather than wolf noises. Immediately locating Madi struggling weakly in Lexa’s arms, demanding to be put down on the ground, Clarke notices the fond smile still present on Lexa’s face.

Clarke easily transfers Madi into her own arms, savouring how she immediately settles down, exhaustion from her earlier change rushing back in. It’s only then that Clarke notices Anya sitting just off to the side, an unusually amused expression visible. She tilts her head in a respectful nod to Clarke when she notices her attention.

_ “She learns quickly, Wanheda.” _

The shock must have been visible on her face, because Anya continues on easily.  _ “I trained that one.” _ She points lazily at Lexa.  _ “I know a little more than most about Nightbloods. Your words the other night weren’t exactly subtle.” _

They really hadn’t been, Clarke realises. She’s been careless, exactly as Lexa had been trying to tell her. Too obvious with her affection for Madi, and not thinking ahead. She doesn’t have a plan for revealing her to the world; doesn’t have an explanation for suddenly having a little girl with the same name as her former wolf companion.

_ “Indra knows, too.” _ Lexa offers up, the mask of the Commander slowly falling back into place.  _ “She used to train the Nightbloods in Polis, before asking to be assigned here. You’re Wanheda, Klark. Nobody will question you taking a Nightblood under your protection.” _

She isn’t sure. So many people have seen Madi as a wolf. Surely somebody will put it together and figure out what Nightbloods are capable of. Somebody will give it away, and soon Madi will be hunted. Perhaps it’d be safer if—

Madi shifts in her arms, head lolling against her chest, and Clarke’s choice is made for her. There’s no way she’ll be separated from Madi, even if it would be safer for her. She’s too attached already.

Madi is  _ hers _ .

_ “Let’s go.” _ Clarke says to Lexa, gesturing towards the door.

————

Setting foot back outside is daunting, but Clarke pretends nothing has changed. Pretends the eyes on her aren’t more curious than usual, even as the intensity of their gaze grows with every moment.

Lexa steps up beside her, a stoic and firm support that Clarke hasn’t realised until now that she needs. Lexa takes point, projecting absolute calm and determination as she leads them towards the horses. One neighs in recognition, stepping in place at the sight of Lexa, who gently strokes its mane and scratches down its neck.

It’s the quiet signal for the Sekens holding the horses to begin assigning them. One walks towards Clarke with fake confidence, handing the lead over and quickly disappearing back into the crowd. Around her, Skaikru is given help to get onto the horses, with Raven riding with Lincoln for support, while Monty and Jasper share another.

Getting in the saddle is difficult with Madi in her arms, but with Lexa’s help in holding Madi for a moment, the group manages to mount up relatively quickly, leaving TonDC illuminated behind them in the morning sunlight.

Throughout the trip, Clarke notices both Monty and Raven glancing curiously — knowingly — at the sleeping girl in her arms, but luckily both are smart enough to remember the warning about Nightbloods. Wise enough to realise that nobody else seems to have noticed the connection.

It eases Clarke’s worries a little, and she relaxes back in the saddle, refocusing her thoughts back on the conversation with Lexa, riding beside her. She smiles gently at the Commander, pleasantly surprised when there’s no confusion or anger within her; only a growing feeling of contentment and comfort, one that she doesn’t quite know how to explain, or even how it came to be in the first place.

————

The mood grows darker and more solemn the closer they get to the entrance to Mt. Weather. The Skaikru in the group vividly remember their escape from the place, and the Trikru are still unable to shake the expectation of rolling clouds of acid fog.

Clarke had known they wouldn’t be alone, either. Lexa had admitted to setting up watch at the Mountain, to keep an eye on anyone that would wander too close. Still, the knowledge doesn’t help the itch from building in the back of her mind.

These eyes are watchful, concerned. They’re too quiet and too invisible to be anyone but Trikru, but it’s still unnerving. Madi’s stirring gives away the fact that she can feel it too, and using the arm not holding the lead, Clarke hugs her closer.

————

She approaches the imposing metal door with a quiet determination, needing to get in and out as fast as possible. Madi woke up when Clarke slid down from her horse, and has refused to be parted from Clarke. She doesn’t mind, enjoying the closeness, and how it helps make this easier on herself.

The panel in the wall retracts with the quiet groan of aging mental, sliding unevenly after the attempts of the Arkadian guards attempts force access to the mountain. A screen appears, dull and inactive, waiting for something to happen.

Underneath Clarke’s armour rests two pieces of plastic. Two keycards, each weighing far more than they rightfully should. She’s kept them with her, unwilling and unable to part from something so important, not even to store them in a safe place.

She hasn’t been willing to risk it, not when they’re so important. Perhaps she doesn’t truly need them, not with her status within Mt. Weather, but should they end up in malicious hands, it would be too easy to gain access to the underground stronghold.

With a jump of her hip shuffles Madi a little out of the way, before reaching in and digging out the one marked with a hastily scribbled P, suppressing the sigh trying to slip out.

_ This is for you, Raven. _

The moment Clarke moves the card over the indent on the wall, a tiny LED lights up below the concealed monitor, which displays a bright message seconds later.

**Verify Identity.**

Thankful for the efficient identification system, Clarke places her hand on the screen. Feeling Madi vibrating with curiosity, Clarke shifts so she has a better view of the screen. A long trill sounds, while the LED shifts from red to bright green. Madi gasps.

**“Identity confirmed. Welcome back Madam President.”**

The electronic voice rings out loudly from the screen, startling Madi but she quickly gathers herself and peers at it even more curiously. Behind her, Clarke hears the group of Skaikru — with the exception of Monty and Raven — draw in sharp breaths at the announcements.

The voice fades back out, and the screen is back to what Clarke remembers from her last visit to Mt. Weather.

**Command?**

Voice commands. Everything about it grates on Clarke’s nerves, because she doesn’t want anyone to know about the defences she’s activated, or how to disable them, even if she’s currently the only one with the right to do so.

Lexa will hear, she knows. Madi too, but she trusts them. Madi isn’t even a question, her trust is immediate and uncomplicated. Clarke knows there’s a Mark on Madi’s skin, binding the two of them together, even more than their shared bond already does. It’s the trust in Lexa that surprises her, but in a pleasant kind of way; in how it’s soothing and warm, but solid and unyielding, just like she knows Lexa can be.

She cleans closer to the screen, voice dropping to a whisper to prevent anyone else from overhearing. Then, one by one, she murmurs the commands to disable the defences inside the mountain. Many are left active, such as the flooded tunnels and armed explosives at all the other entrances. She finds it easier this way, knowing that nobody will get in without a lot of trouble.

When the last word leaves her mouth, a grinding sound picks up from the metal door; the solid steel locks slowly disengaging. She stands up and steps away from the door, watching the group they brought along to catalogue their reactions as it swings open.

“Welcome to Mt. Weather.” She intones, forcing the words out without any hitch or wobble.

They approach carefully, slowly, visibly afraid of the darkness within. Lexa comes up beside her, and Clarke whispers.  _ “The door will close behind us. I don’t want anyone else to come inside.” _

_ “Very well.”  _ In this moment, there is only the Commander, Lexa has dropped the soft edges and replaced them with her steely determination.

They step inside, a motion sensor causing lights to flicker back to life overhead. Clarke waits for everyone to enter, before approaching a panel on the wall, and closing the door. She turns, leading them deeper into Mt. Weather.

————

Their footsteps clang sharply against the metal steps of the stairwell, echoing hauntingly down abandoned concrete corridors. Clarke doesn’t allow them to stop for breaks; doesn’t allow them to explore.

They move, unerringly, down to Medical, only pausing momentarily for Clarke to swipe her card and unlock the door. Stale and ashy air rushes out in a soft caress as it slides open. Madi coughs in Clarke’s grasp, and it’s echoed by most of the group.

Gesturing for the others to join her, Clarke steps across the threshold and into Medical, letting her eyes trail over the once pristine surfaces, now covered with a light layer of dust from the incinerated research lab.

“What happened here?” Jackson asks, having clearly expected a much more sterile environment.

Memories of Dr. Tsing flash insistently through Clarke’s mind. Memories of torturing the woman; of the pure anger and hatred that had been roiling within Clarke, just minutes after killing the Mountain Men. She’s certain that the serum Dr. Tsing had injected her with hadn’t helped at all. Neither had her own crumbling defences to keep her nature hidden.

“Incineration.” She states succinctly, not offering any actual explanation at all.

Vehemently ignoring the still-sealed door to the Quarantine Ward, Clarke follows her memories towards the surgical theatre, looking it over with a critical glance.

Luckily the Medical section was built with separation in mind, in case of emergencies, and it’s only the common area that’s been contaminated by the ash from the destroyed research lab. All the individual rooms appear to still have functional seals, and looking through the windows everything seems to be sterile.

Jackson seems to agree, making himself at home in an examination room, beginning to take an inventory of its equipment. A few minutes later he strolls out of the room in search of the pharmacy, followed by an excited shout that attracts everyone’s attention when he finds it well-stocked.

“It’s better equipped than what we had on the Ark. Bigger.” He grins excitedly. “Can you help Raven up? We’ll need to do a lot of tests.” Jackson motions towards the bed by the wall.

Raven has been leaning against her old mentor, Sinclair, for the trip down the corridors, and he takes charge in getting her situated and ready for the battery of tests.

To give Raven a bit of privacy, Jackson orders everyone out of the room. Clarke is hesitant to leave her alone, but gives in when Raven gives her a smile and a nod towards Alexis, who has taken up a rigid stance just beside the door. When Clarke looks at her curiously, Alexis scoffs good-naturedly.

_ “Sanctuary.” _ She rolls her eyes, before smirking slightly.  _ “At least she’s a pretty assignment.” _

Clarke barks out a laugh at the soft Trig words. She skips out of the room feeling much better about the situation than before; a warm thought going out to Lexa for going so far for those under her protection.

Watching Madi run around the rooms of Medical with no trace of fear in her eyes helps the warm feeling within Clarke to grow and blossom into something more. Something firm and solid. Something she knows will never leave her.

Monty sidles up next to her quietly, observing Madi play makes Clarke worry a little. She never wanted to lie to him, even by omission.

“That’s Madi, isn’t it?” It’s a rhetorical question. Monty already knows.

“Yes.” She confirms it anyway, trying to combat the guilt that’s rising up.

“Nightblood?” Another rhetorical question.

“It’s not my secret to give away.” Clarke says instead, pleading with her eyes for Monty to understand. To keep it quiet. He squeezes her arm, nodding in unspoken agreement.

“I think I figured it out a few days ago..” He pauses, tilting his head slightly in a familiar fashion. “She’s Marked, isn’t she? That’s why I feel so protective of her?”

Clarke hums in agreement, surprised that Monty had been able to feel the connection. Her eyes haven’t left Madi during her chat with Monty, so when she runs over to the sealed door to the Quarantine Ward, Clarke starts moving automatically to intercept her.

Logically, she knows Madi can’t get in. Knows that the door is locked, and that it will only unlock for Clarke alone. Even so, she doesn’t want Madi that close to it. She grabs the squealing bundle, spinning Madi around to distract herself from the window in the door.

It doesn’t work.

Immediately, Clarke notices the destruction of the ward on the other side. The way the immaculate walls have been reduced to charred concrete, and the way puddles of plastic have formed around destroyed equipment.

It’s strewn all over, and thankfully Clarke doesn’t notice any bones. Doesn’t see the remnant of a body, but she knows it’s just off to the side, out of sight of the window.

That’s not what makes Clarke stop in place though. Rather, it’s the fact that the Quarantine Ward is bigger now. Bigger than it was when she was a patient inside it. Bigger than when she tortured Dr. Tsing, and certainly bigger than when she set it ablaze.

At what used to be the far end of the room, a section of wall has been refused to ankle-height rubble. Pieces of machinery and melted wires stick out where a hidden door must have been.

A fake wall. A deception.

A wall that had been disguising a staircase at the back of the room. A staircase, that from the looks of it, goes down.

“Monty I need you to watch Madi for a while.”

Lexa must have noticed or heard her worry, because it’s a matter of seconds before she stands beside them, flanked by Lincoln and Ryder, who both look uncomfortable being underground and inside the base.

Monty takes one look at Clarke’s worried face, opening his arms for Madi to latch on and walking off to wait outside Raven’s examination room. Jasper comes over with Sinclair, having noticed the commotion, and takes one look through the window before cursing.

“What happened?” Lexa asks, emotions carefully controlled.

“When I.. When I killed the Mountain Men,” Clarke’s breath hitches minutely, “I had a prisoner that I interrogated. One that couldn’t be allowed to live. Dr. Tsing.” She pauses, watching the way Lexa’s eyes briefly ignite at the name. “I set fire to her and her research. Her body is in this room.”

Clarke steps closer to the door, swiping her card against the terminal, and scanning her palm when requested. It slides open smoothly, not at all damaged by the inferno that raged within.

Steeling herself, Clarke walks inside, and immediately feels relief at seeing the pile of bones and ash lying in the corner. Tsing didn’t escape.

Lincoln stays behind after a glance from Lexa, but the others follow her in and Clarke makes sure to lock the door behind them, unwilling to leave even a chance of Madi making it through.

“But the fire destroyed a wall, revealing that staircase.”

Clarke continues, stepping around and over the debris strewn across the room.

“It’s not on any of the maps I saw. Jasper?”

He quickly shakes his head in a negative. “It wasn’t. And none of the maintenance ducts lead past this room.”

Clarke draws one of her swords, holding it ready with one hand, and leaving the other free.

The surfaces on the doorway are all charred, and despite there being signs of past writing, it’s all illegible. They step in, with Lexa and Ryder pulling out their own swords.

The stairwell is in better shape, despite the door having been open during the incineration process. It looks older, from a different period of construction, with heavy metal hanging on hinges instead of the more common sliding doors in the rest of the mountain.

Markings on the wall indicate that they’re on  **Level 4** , which Clarke at least knows to be true. They only lead down, occasionally indicating that they’ve passed through another level.

Clarke stops when they reach a painted marking indicating  **Level 7** , staring at the still-blank walls. There’s been no doors, no exits, only stairs going deeper and deeper.

But this is impossible. The Control Centre is on Level 7. The deepest level of Mt. Weather, and yet, the stairs continue going deeper down, lit only by flickering fluorescent lights on the walls, humming reassuringly.

The next landing has a door, marked **Level 8 - Medical** . It’s sealed, and this door doesn’t have a window. Clarke warily approaches the terminal beside the door, clearly having been installed after this place was built.

It doesn’t respond.

Frown growing deeper and more pronounced, the group continues carefully down.

**Level 9 -** **Barracks**

Hand-painted in white paint underneath the marking, is Surplus Storage. Unsurprisingly, the door is sealed shut and the terminal is unresponsive.

The next few flights of stairs have no landing, simply continuing down, before ending abruptly at a final landing. It’s more spacious, and it dawns on Clarke that the entire stairwell runs around an elevator shaft that leads back up to Medical on Level 4.

A set of double doors sit in the middle of the landing, a lit terminal merrily illuminating the space around them.

**Mount Weather Emergency Operations Center**

**Level 10 - Long Term Storage**

Clarke steps forward to scan her card against the terminal. Immediately, a click pierces the suffocating silence in the stairwell, causing Clarke to shift a little in surprise.

She tries the handle, and the door swings inward on well-oiled hinges, with just the barest groan of rust.

She steps inside the room, listening to the constant ping of lights beginning to flicker on. Watches how the room transforms from what she expected to be a storage room, to a rough-hewn rock cavern, lined with aisle after aisle of metal shelving units, each densely packed with large objects.

_ “What is this place?”  _ Clarke hears Lexa mutter, but ignores it to look at the old computer monitor sitting just inside the room, a few steps beside the door.

**Standby Initiated.**

**Press any key to continue…**

Footsteps echo around her as first Lexa and Ryder step inside, then followed by Jasper and Sinclair, but Clarke’s focus is on the old and dusty keyboard laying in front of the bulky monitor.

With just a moment's deliberation, Clarke presses enter.

One by one, lines of text begins scrolling down the screen, agonizingly slowly.

**Self-Diagnostic complete.**

**Project: [Redacted]**

**Contact: Head of Medical, Dr. Clarke Griffin**

**System Status: Operational.**

**Power Sup**

Clarke stares at the words, noticing the small card reader by the computer. Even as words continue to appear on the screen, she’s already acting on her hunch. She pulls out the other keycard from beneath her armour, the one labelled M. Scanning it causes the screen to go blank for a second.

A yelp catches her attention, dragging her eyes from the screen to the aisle of storage that are slowly lighting up with blue light. Some dim immediately, while others brighten after a few moments. Jasper seems to have been surprised by them turning on, stepping closer to investigate.

The screen flickers back on.

**Project Lazarus**

**United States Space Command - Research Division**

**System Status: Operational.**

**Power Supply: Operational. Battery backup fully charged.**

**Capacity: 45%**

**Life Support Systems: Nominal.**

**Access Control Panel? Yes/No?**

Clarke clicks yes, and the contents of the screen changes. It’s not what she had expected.

She doesn’t know what she had expected, actually, but a list of occupants wasn’t it. Certainly not the photos that follow, of people with blueish skin that appear to be sleeping, and their detailed medical history. Clarke stops scrolling when a familiar name and face catches her eye.

**Maya Vie**

**Aisle 2, Pod 16**

**Subject has been in storage for 3 mo-**

“Maya?”

It’s not Clarke’s voice. It’s coming from deeper in the cavern. Jasper.

Clarke hurries back out of the menus, making sure to log out with her card as she does so, before sprinting through the room. Jasper is hovering over a glass panel emitting blue light, fiddling with the controls beside it. Every press of a button results in an angry beep.

“Jasper no!” Clarke shouts.

He doesn’t hear her, just keeps blindly pushing at buttons.

Lexa steps in to drag him away from the pod, ignoring his flailing attempts to get free. He’s incoherent — desperate — to get to the girl lying in the metal pod.

“Jasper, she'll die if you let her out.” Clarke finally steps in front of him, blocking his view. “The air will kill her.” She says it slowly. Repeats it when Jasper doesn’t seem to get it.

He blinks at her blankly — placidly — having stopped fighting back at Lexa. Sinclair steps close, pulling him out of the cavern and back into the stairwell, followed by everyone else.

“What is this place?” Lexa repeats, this time aiming the question at Clarke. She’s seen through the glass windows, with some being empty and some having faces in them.

“A prison.” Clarke swallows harshly. “It’s a prison.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So first of all, I’m so terribly sorry that this chapter was so delayed!  
> Life caught up to me at the end of November, and everything got super busy, leaving me with not a lot of time, and very little motivation, to write. I didn’t want to rush out a tiny chapter, especially when I knew I wouldn’t be happy with it, so I decided to just take a small break :)
> 
> Now though, we’re back to our regularly scheduled programming, and a slightly longer than usual chapter to make up for the break.  
> It was quite a difficult one to write, with a lot of moving parts and things to wrap up, but I’m quite happy with the end result. Hopefully you like it as well!
> 
> Oh also, I have both a [Tumblr](https://non-euclidean-feels.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/NoEuclideanFeel) account under the same name, where I’ll mention if there’s ever another break like last week. Feel free to reach out there if you want to chat :)


	30. Ch 30 - Say Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke makes a startling realisation, and Raven learns about her options.

"A prison." Clarke swallows harshly. "It's a prison."

—

Clarke is unable to tear her eyes from the room. Unable to focus on Lexa, missing the worried frown and confused tilt to her head. Clarke is too busy cataloguing everything, committing it to memory.

"It's a prison." She repeats.

A hand comes up automatically, gesturing around them. Her eyes are locked on the row where Maya lies. Where she's been kept. Where she's laid for over three months, completely unaware of everything going on around them.

_She doesn't know about her people._

Clarke swallows. "The Maunon weren't all bad," she says.

In the corner of her vision, she notices Lexa's eyes widening, her frown smoothing into an angry line.

"Are all Azgeda evil?" Clarke asks, not expecting an answer. She doesn't get one either, though in the otherwise silent cavern, the way Lexa's shoulders crumble ever so slightly might as well have been a shouted admission.

"Maya, the girl Jasper found, was part of the resistance that helped us infiltrate. She and her family kept my friends free as long as they could…"

Clarke finally manages to tear her eyes away from the aisles. Away from Maya. Away from the countless other people that must be surrounding them. Her hand slams heavily onto the metal surface of the desk, blowing the thin layer of dust into a cloud.

"They opposed the Maunon?" Lexa finally asks, stepping into Clarke's space. Her hand runs down the metal desk, shivering. Perhaps the surface is colder than Lexa expected. Perhaps it's the thought that not all the Maunon were bad. And perhaps, _perhaps_ Clarke doesn't have a clue what's going through Lexa's mind.

"They did." Clarke says, not stepping away. "They still wanted to go outside. Longed for the feeling of the sun on their faces, but they hated what their leaders were doing to your people. They believed there had to be another way."

Perhaps there had been. A way that none of them had intended, not with the way this place is hidden away, behind false walls and deeper than Mt. Weather had been known to go.

_Project Lazarus._

Dr. Tsing was undoubtedly not a good person. She never would have been someone Clarke could enjoy spending time with. Not someone she could have admired.

And yet, right now, as a smile builds and threatens to attach itself permanently, Clarke scans the room again.

"Just because the Maunon wanted a prison, doesn't mean it has to stay that way."

Clarke meets Lexa's eyes, watching as a brief flash of understanding makes the green seem deeper. She turns, throwing a last lingering glance at the computer by the door, before striding through and beckoning for Lexa to follow her.

The door shuts behind them with a heavy thud. Reassuring. Clarke scans her card against the terminal, and listens for the final bolt snapping into place.

Only once the door is locked securely behind her does Clarke allow herself a moment to look over Jasper. He has to be in shock. He's far too still — too pliant — beside Sinclair. The arm on his shoulder isn't holding him back at all, not like Clarke has been expecting. It doesn't even have to try.

Jasper is like a statue, just standing there silently, staring blankly at the door that now obscures his view of the cavern beyond. Staring towards the girl he loves.

"Jasper." Clarke calls out, stepping into his line of vision.

There's no response. No recognition flaring in his eyes. They remain blank and empty, though Jasper's breathing is picking up.

So as not to startle him, Clarke slowly moves closer, stance open and welcoming. She guides him through the motions, helping him relax and focus on his breathing.

Nobody says anything as Jasper finally crumples between Clarke and Sinclair, the tears finally making their way out. He's muttering incoherently, but occasionally Clarke can make out the words "Maya" and "so sorry".

"Jasper." She tries again. "She's alive." It's a statement Clarke has to repeat several times, before it sinks in. Maya is alive. Maya has been alive for all this time, hidden underneath her own home.

"We'll get her out, I promise. We'll help her."

—

They've been gone for quite a while now. At first, Madi had been excited to play with Monty. She had run around the main room of Medical, talking excitedly in Trigedasleng, which Monty still only understands a few words of. Something that Madi had quickly realised, her happy smile fading and struggling to contain her frustration.

Monty glances at the still-functional clock on the wall. Thirty-two minutes since Madi planted herself in front of the sealed door to the Quarantine section, refusing to listen to Monty's suggestions for games to play.

" _Where is she?"_ Madi says, for what must have been the fifth time in as many minutes. Monty might not know a lot of Trig, but Madi's tone and the way her bottom lip is wobbling means he quickly figured it out the first time she asked.

Madi seems to understand as much English as Monty does Trig, her face lighting up when he mentions Clarke, but shuttering in confusion when he tries to explain that she'll be back soon.

Fortunately for Monty, they're not alone in the room. Even though Lincoln has been on guard for any potential threats by the door, he's happy to translate for the odd pair. Together they manage to explain it, though Madi still refuses to leave the sealed door.

" _Did you know Lexa is my sister?"_ Lincoln asks, having seen how interesting Madi finds her.

Immediately, her sullen face lights up in excitement. She squirms in place, ending up leaning against Monty while demanding the story from Lincoln. He laughs, and makes sure to repeat every sentence in English for Monty to follow along.

" _I'm the oldest,"_ he begins proudly. " _I was just a few years older than you when she was born. Though we share a mother, we have different fathers."_

Lincoln spins story after story of a young Lexa. One who would laugh and giggle in delight at every animal scurrying through the forest, her noise scaring them away. Lexa who was afraid of horses, because they were simply too tall.

Time speeds up as they listen spellbound to Lincoln's every word, every muffled laughter and smile; every warning to never let on that he was the one to tell them.

The door sliding open startles the three of them. Lincoln jumps to his feet, hand immediately seeking out his sword, getting ready to draw it at a moment's notice. Monty grabs Madi, pulling her a few steps away, but she exclaims happily and tries to squirm out of his grasp.

The reason becomes obvious soon enough, as Clarke's blonde hair becomes visible through the opening. The moment he lets go of Madi, she runs the short distance towards Clarke, hugging tightly around one of her legs.

Madi might not have noticed yet, but Clarke is too slow to hide her serious expression from either Lincoln or Monty. She meets their gazes with solemn eyes.

Carefully, Clarke lifts the leg Madi is still hanging tightly onto and steps out of the way of the door, allowing Sinclair to drag a subdued Jasper through, followed by the tense forms of Lexa and Ryder.

"The Maunon had more prisoners than just people from the Coalition," Clarke says, reaching down to embrace Madi.

—

Clarke's statement echoes throughout the room, supported by the worried expressions worn by everyone that went into the depths below Mt. Weather. Everyone except Jasper, that is.

He's more alert now. Instead of being lost in the shock of seeing Maya imprisoned downstairs, he's focused on planning ways to get her out. Lips pushed together to form a tight line, he's muttering to himself, eyes darting unseeing over the occupants of the room.

"They have to be cryogenic storage pods." Sinclair says into the silence, grabbing the attention of everyone. "I'd need a close look to say for certain, but they have to be. It's the only thing that makes sense."

Monty looks up, curiosity brimming in his eyes. "How do you know?"

Sinclair shrugs and steps away from Jasper. He begins to pace the room, using his hands to visualize the dimensions of the pods he saw. "For one, they had frost on the inside. They were big enough to be stand-alone units, just needing power to keep running. They could be moved." His voice drops in volume a little, as he scratches at the short hairs at his neck. "And.. I've seen the blueprints for something similar, back up on the Ark, references to designs and orders for equipment to be sent up. They never were, of course, with the bombs going off."

"Can you get them out?" Jasper sounds determined, no longer staring off randomly, instead hyper-focused on Sinclair's still-pacing form.

Clarke stays quiet, knowing they can't help Maya yet. Knowing that the contaminated air would kill her quickly, painfully. The flash of orange in Lexa's eyes tells Clarke that she isn't happy about the idea either. For different reasons, most likely, but getting Maya and the other prisoners out now will be problematic for everyone.

"Physically, yes." Sinclair admits, stopping in place. "But, as Clarke said, Maya would die if we let her out." He pins Jasper with a hard stare, needing to get his point through. "They all would, Jasper. All of them. The air is contaminated, and even if it wasn't, we would be."

"I promised you, we'll help them. We'll help her." Clarke strides over to Jasper, tugging him into a loose hug. "But we can't do it now. She would need bone marrow to survive," Clarke holds up a hand to stop Jasper before he can speak up. "I know you wouldn't hesitate to donate it. But right now? Jasper, we have to be in Polis in a few days. Maya is safe here, for now."

Clarke takes a step back, allowing Jasper the space he so clearly needs. She lets him shake, allows him to pin her with an angry stare. It doesn't phase her.

Maya is safe. It's a prison, yes, but it's also protection; something she had realised on their long trip back up the stairs. The Long Term Storage room is a bunker within a bunker, buried hundreds of feet below the ground.

Nobody can get to her. Nobody except Clarke.

Wincing slightly at the thought, unwilling to let the power she holds get to her head, Clarke looks towards a thoroughly confused Madi.

"We'll be back, Jasper. We'll be back, and when we do, we'll be properly prepared to help her. We'll get them out."

The sound of a door opening has everyone swivelling to the examination room, revealing Raven with a severe expression on her face.

"What'd I miss? Actually never mind. Griff, get in here." Raven practically orders, pain etched on her face as she turns to limp back into the room.

Unwilling to part from Madi again, Clarke pulls her into her arms. She thanks Monty for having looked after him, leaving a worried room behind her as the door to the examination room slides closed. Even so, she can hear Jasper's angry exclamations mutedly through the thick metal.

"I told you not to move." Jackson says, incredulous.

Raven throws herself back onto the examination table with a groan. "I'm not an invalid!" She looks up, smiling briefly at the sight of Madi in Clarke's arms, before the pain wipes it from her face. "Tell her."

Since Jackson continues to stare at Raven in disbelief, Clarke takes a seat beside Alexis, who still stands unobtrusively just inside the door.

It takes him a few moments, but Jackson trained under Abigail Griffin. He's been working in Medical for years. He's used to difficult patients, but not quite patients that order him around. Then again, Raven Reyes is not someone you get used to quite so easily.

He walks confidently over to a desk littered with samples and papers. A monitor turns on, displaying what Clarke recognizes as an x-ray image.

"This is the bullet Raven was shot with." Jackson indicates a bright solid spot on the image, nestled just beside Raven's spine. "We can remove it, but…" his finger trails the section of cloudy grey surrounding the bullet. "There's a lot of scar tissue. It would help with the pain, but she might never regain full use of her—"

"Do it." Raven interrupts, not for the first time if the unimpressed expression on Jackson's face is anything to go by.

It's then that Clarke recalls Raven's whispered confession days before. Something she'd only admitted after Monty and Jasper had figured it out.

Raven doesn't care about her leg. She doesn't need to run, doesn't need the flexibility of a warrior. She just needs a place to work. A place to craft.

But pain? Pain distracts and interferes. Pain dulls, and if there's one thing Raven hates with a passion, it's feeling her mind being reduced by the pain.

"How long would it take?" Clarke asks, supporting Raven without voicing any of the thoughts running through her mind. Despite knowing this is what Raven wants, and that nothing will deter her from it, Clarke still throws an apologetic look in her direction. "And, how soon afterwards can she travel? I'll carry her if I have to, but we need to be in Polis soon."

Jackson lets his head fall back against the wall with a thump, having expected Clarke to be on his side for this. He should have known better.

"This place has everything we need, but I need some help during surgery. A few hours for surgery." Jackson swallows harshly, looking Clarke in the eyes. "She shouldn't travel for a few weeks. I know we don't have that much time. A day at the very least, and she's not allowed to walk for at least a week."

—

Indra is _tired_. She'll never let that show, but spirits she's exhausted. Dealing with Lexa's actions always leaves her desiring a hot bath, and perhaps a small glass of that spiced wine, so popular with the northern clans.

This is no time to relax, however. Not when there are so many new people in TonDC. Not when her guards are on edge, and her scouts are busy running surveillance on that accursed metal village. And most definitely not when the end is so near.

Lexa's schemes often result in Indra picking up an insistent headache, and this time is no different, but at least the Commander had been kind enough to let her know of their deadline; of the need to be in Polis within four days.

It's a relief and a curse all in one, as the large group of Skaikru are most assuredly _not_ ready to travel that distance. They're just as exhausted as she feels, but more than that they are _weak_.

Weak, but not weak-willed. Small mercies.

Kane has been a decent help in corralling the elders of the population, getting them organized and ready to help in the construction of a few extra carts, as the few Indra possesses already have been earmarked to carry provisions.

It's a test, cleverly disguised as them helping themselves. If they can succeed in this, in crafting three horse-drawn flatbed carts, then perhaps Skaikru are not as useless as she had thought.

Even so, the headache pounds away at the base of her head, tired of dealing with imbeciles. Making a stop by the Healer's house to pick up a mild pain reliever from Nyko's Seken, Indra moves around to the training pits behind it to observe.

At least her Seken is doing better. Octavia has shed any remnants of her Skaikru nature, and if Indra didn't know better — and wasn't trained better —, the girl could pass for Trikru.

She's still too thin, though she's gotten noticeably healthier during her week in TonDC. Stronger, too, Indra silently admits to herself as she watches Octavia execute a difficult move with her sword, disarming her opponent.

" _Use your hip next time. Move with the sword. Let it become a part of you."_ She calls out, surprising the sparring partners.

One thing Octavia has learned quickly is respect. Towards Indra, at least. It's not quite time to test her Seken by Heda and Wanheda again, not any time soon.

She's got a good idea about the Skaikru, though. Total avoidance. Indra is nearly jealous, nearly. But good ideas should be rewarded, right?

" _Get your gear, Seken. We're going hunting."_ Indra can't quite smother the relief in her voice at the thought of leaving the noisy Skaikru behind. She really needs Lexa to come back and deal with them, because this definitely was never meant to be Indra's job. If it was, she never would have accepted it in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Struggled a bit with this chapter. Ended up rewriting parts of it all over, as there are some important bits in there. Hope you enjoy :)


	31. Ch 31 - Above or Below, always a Prison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raven undergoes surgery. Lexa asks a question that causes Clarke to relive an important memory.

“Are you sure, Raven?” Jackson asks, again.

Raven’s patience is wearing thin, a scowl firmly planted on her face; an incredulous glare directly at Jackson. He valiantly ignores her, well used to difficult patients, instead walking around the small room to ready everything he will need. Clarke struggles to maintain her placid expression, fighting to hold back the laughter that threatens to break free.

“Which part of ‘I don’t care if you have to rip my leg off to get the bullet out!’ was unclear?” Raven attempts to deadpan, but frustration leaks into every word.

Clarke is well aware of Jackson’s approach. How he’ll let patients focus on one aspect, while he gets ready. While he spends the time preparing. They hate it, but it helps pass the time.

It’s infinitely better than the patients that worry, the ones that won’t stop asking questions and interrupting. She’d seen it plenty of times as a child, working with her mother in Medical back aboard the Ark.

Jackson turns back around, and from the expression on his face, Clarke knows she was right. His lips are drawn — serious and professional — but his eyes betray the feeling of success and slight mirth.

“Let’s go then,” he says. It shut Raven up more effectively than Clarke has ever seen before. She gapes for a long moment, eyes fixed on Jackson, before they dart towards Clarke and narrow in accusation.

“You knew.”

Clarke only nods, failing at holding back her smile.

“I’ll be with you every step of the way, Raven.”

Clarke brings the wheeled stretcher over to the examination table, giving Raven a last chance to reconsider. They really don’t know how she’ll react to the surgery, not with how quickly they have to travel.

“Do it.”

Raven repeats her words from earlier, shifting onto the stretcher with Clarke’s help. Jackson holds the doors to the operating room open, while Clarke wheels the stretcher through.

“I’ll get the others.” He offers, leaving Clarke and Raven alone in the brightly lit room.

“You know, I never actually thought I’d get this far…” Raven whispers, shifting a little closer to Clarke. “At first it was the escape pod to get down here. Then when Murphy shot me, that dick. This place nearly broke me, Griff.”

Raven aims a weak smirk at her leg. She turns over her hand to reveal the small Celtic knot on the underside. Clarke takes the offered hand in hers, noticing how Raven’s eyes widen at the touch. She can feel the Mark heating up slightly.

“Nearly.” Clarke readily agrees, breaking a little inside at the lost expression on Raven’s face. Raven is so strong, so boisterous and fierce. She’s so blind, at times. “But you’re Raven Fucking Reyes.” Clarke waits for the expected smile to break through. “And you’re not alone. Not anymore.”

The old door creaks open, one of the few in Mt. Weather using hinges rather than sliding on rails. Jackson steps inside, Jasper following closely behind. He moves to set up and get everything ready.

“Ready, Raven?” Jackson asks — again — as a gentle smile lights up his face.

————

They leave the operating room, letting Jackson care for a still unconscious Raven. Clarke carefully packs away all the memories that have been dug up in the last few hours. Memories of helping her mother in Medical on the Ark. Memories of detailed discussions about the human body and just how weak and fragile it can be. She shudders. The memories have all been tainted by how Abby has changed.

“How is she?”

Monty is the first to speak up, already on his feet and moving towards Clarke by the time the words leave him.

“Jackson got the bullet out.” Clarke says, slumping a little in relief.

Uncaring about the eyes on her, Clarke walks into the offered embrace. Allows herself to be weak for a moment, to allow someone to comfort her. Raven might have been the one in pain, needing surgery, but for Clarke to stand there, watching, had been horrible.

Wounds are one thing, and caring for someone injured is an instinct so deeply ingrained into Clarke that she cannot — will not — regret it. Still though, it is never pleasant to see a loved one in that state.

“He said he was able to remove most of the scar tissue.” Jasper offers, coming up to lean against Monty’s shoulder. “Without the bullet, he said it’s likely she won’t be in pain any longer.”

_ When she’s healed. If she heals properly. _

Clarke doesn’t voice her thoughts, unwilling to burst the glimmer of hope in Jasper’s voice. He was a solid help for Raven’s surgery, despite the shock of Maya’s survival. Clearly Jasper had been doing more than just delivering medicine to the patients in Arkadia, him and Jackson being so in tune with each other.

_ “Klark?” _

She disentangles herself from Monty’s embrace and walks over to Lexa, heart swelling with affection at the sight of Madi sound asleep in her lap. Clarke takes a seat beside Lexa, reaching out and stroking Madi’s arm gently.

_ “What is it?” _

Clarke can’t help but notice Lexa’s thoughtful expression. Can’t help but notice the way she’s radiating nervous energy, muscles coiled slightly, ready to release at a moment's notice.

_ “Skaikru… Your mother, she was in contact with the Maunon’s healer?” _

Unsure where the discussion is going, Clarke simply agrees. They’d all heard the recording of Abby and Jaha talking about Dr. Tsing’s experiments.

_ “It’s Anya. I saw her sitting by the fire-pits this morning, covered in thick furs and shivering as if she couldn’t get warm. Do you think they did something to her?” _ Lexa’s eyes find Clarke’s, pleading with her to have an answer.

An answer Clarke doesn’t have. She’s noticed the way Anya seeks out heat too, almost desperate for it. The way Nyko has glanced worriedly at Anya when he thought they weren’t looking, despite his claims that she is getting better.

And she is getting better, even just the small amount of time in TonDC has already helped her spirits. The problem is, she’s not recovering as fast as Nyko expected.

_ “I..” _ Clarke begins, unsure how to let Lexa down gently. She doesn’t get a chance to continue. Not with thoughts of experiments swirling in her head, or with the thought of Dr. Tsing working with her mother. Not when they’re sitting just a few floors above a prison.

_ A prison.. _

Clarke’s eyes widen in realisation.

_ “Lexa, we need to go back downstairs.” _

That’s all Clarke offers, before reaching out to pull Madi into her arms. She can’t bear being separated again, and it had been safe enough.

Lexa doesn’t question Clarke, simply gesturing for Ryder to follow and for Lincoln to stay behind again. She does quirk an eyebrow in an unasked question, but Clarke is too busy fiddling with the sealed door to the Quarantine Ward to notice.

Clarke makes sure Madi is still asleep in her arms, but makes sure to tilt her head away from Dr. Tsing’s remains anyway. Barely paying attention to their surroundings as they make their way down the stairwell.

A curious frown is directed to the sealed door on **Level 8 - Medical** , but Clarke’s focus quickly returns to the task at hand. To the insistent thought she can’t dispel, but that doesn’t quite want to be followed either. A hunch.

They arrived on the lowest level, outside the doors to the cavern — the prison. The doors swing open, once again revealing the spacious room, lights flickering on slowly.

Clarke leads them over to the computer beside the room, swiping her card to unlock the system. The words that she had discarded at first as inconsequential now stare back at her with a certainty. She doesn’t realise that she’s reading them aloud, voice carrying through the space and echoing hauntingly.

**“Project Lazarus, United States Space Command - Research Division”**

The memory catches Clarke entirely off guard, unrelenting and forceful. She had been so focused on Anya, when she found the warrior locked up inside Arkadia. Had been so worried about the way Anya had been all loose limbs and hazy — barely aware — eyes. Clarke had been so focused on getting Anya and anything that belonged to her out of the cell.

So focused that she hadn’t paid any attention to the floor to ceiling contraption beside the door. The one with a dark glass front and off-white label proudly declaring it the property of “United States Space Command - Research Division”.

It had made sense at the time. The Ark was a mixture of space stations, and several of those stations were military in origin. What doesn’t make sense, is having a project of the United States Space Command sitting in the lowest level of a massive bunker.

Clarke’s feet carry her towards the closest cryopod, eyes immediately scanning it to compare with the contraption she had seen in Arkadia. They’re a match, except these pods aren’t dark and lifeless. No they’re lit with a soft blue, but still marked with the property label.

Back at the computer, she reads in more detail than she had the first time they went down here. Pays more attention to the procedures and guidelines for the project.

_ “I think I know what they did to Anya,” _ Clarke says, breathless.  _ “They froze her.” _

She points to a check-list named **Reanimation Procedure** on the screen, uncaring if Lexa and Ryder can even read it. There, on the screen, is the innocuous list of steps required to bring a subject out of cryostasis.

**“17. If Subject will be out of their Lazarus Pod for more than 24 hours, administer Compound USSC-2X04-B.”**

The silence from Lexa and Ryder is deafening, but Madi doesn’t seem to care, still sound asleep in Clarke’s arms. She turns to the two others, noting their worried glances at the computer and their taut shoulders.

_ “Lexa.” _ Only when Clarke has Lexa’s full attention does she continue.  _ “From what Anya has told us, she only remembers waking up for a day or so at most, right? She lost time?” _

_ “Yes.” _ Lexa’s voice is tight. Strained.

_ “In her cell, there was a pod just like these. The easiest way to keep Anya prisoner would be to have her be asleep. Otherwise, somebody would have noticed the guards it would take to keep her contained.” _ Clarke pauses.  _ “There was only one pod, and I think it must have broken. What if Anya was taken out for more than a day, and Abby didn’t bother giving her the drug to wake her up properly?” _

Lexa’s eyes widen as Clarke explains, confusion quickly replaced with understanding and  _ rage _ .

_ “She would be easier to control.” _

————

Jealousy wars with fondness as Clarke observes Raven’s sleeping figure on the hospital bed. She might have been blissfully out of it and unaware of the excited chaos going on around her, but even asleep Raven’s mouth is turned down in a slight frown.

Clarke might long for the soft support of a mattress herself. The heavy feeling in her body betrays the fact that she’s been awake for nearly a day and a half. Lexa told her to sleep, but Clarke’s need to protect had been too strong.

While Raven transitioned from being knocked out from the sedatives to simply being deeply asleep, some of the worry had dissipated. If they hadn’t been so deep underneath a mountain, within the base of a former enemy, Clarke might have been able to relax.

However, with Madi more vulnerable in her human form and still exhausted from her first conscious shift, it was a lost cause.

“Did you find it?” Monty asks, looking up from beside Raven’s bed.

They had told everyone about their discovery downstairs in the Long Term Storage. Despite Clarke’s insistence on waiting to wake Maya up, Jasper had been overjoyed at just the fact that proper instructions existed. That they won’t have to experiment on her to figure it out, and that there — hopefully — won’t be much risk.

“Jackson did.” Because of course he did. “It was down on Level 8.”

Apparently the hidden levels of Mt. Weather had been exclusively for use for military applications. Completely locked down and away from the potentially civilian population that the upper levels were designed to support.

It took Monty and Clarke travelling down to the Command Centre on Level 7 and using the President’s keycard to properly activate the power for the hidden levels. All in all, a  _ very  _ frustrating night trying to figure it out.

The compound turned out to be incredibly underwhelming. Clarke had half-expected another serum like the one Dr. Tsing injected her with, metallic and silvery and  _ wrong _ . But no, just a normal glass vial with a watery substance inside.

“There are hundreds of doses. Still good, too, despite being from before the bombs fell.”

Clarke pulls one of the vials out of a pouch on her belt. The little glass vial looks new, with the dust wiped off. There’s no label on it, and perhaps there never was. Instead, the compound code and expiry date has been etched into both the metal cap and the bottle itself. Good for another hundred and fifty years.

“You ready?” Clarke asks, aware of Monty’s fatigue. It’s clear from the way he’s sagging in his chair, but more than that, Clarke can almost feel twinges of exhaustion in the air. It’s hard to tell if they’re her own or if they’re Monty’s.

“Yeah..” A tired smile lights up his face. Clarke already knows what he’s thinking by the way his gaze softens as he stares into the distance.

“Harper, huh?”

————

The concrete corridors are just as empty now. Just as dark and brooding, but far less oppressive and threatening. Their footsteps still echo hauntingly in the open spaces, and down around more and more hallways.

With the knowledge of where they’re going, it doesn’t seem too bad. It’s almost enough to put the Mountain Men into perspective. Almost enough to explain how their self-approved and inhumane plans had seemed sane and perfectly fine to them. With the dark walls having closed in around them for days, it’s becoming clear to Clarke just how awful it must have been to live here your entire life.

At least on the Ark, there had been no hope to escape. There had been no excursions to the ground, and no teasing glimpse of the life they could lead. Aside from seeing everything from far above, of course.

With the metal staircases behind them, Clarke leads the way over to the terminal by the main entrance to Mt. Weather.

“Wait!”

Clarke stops, hand holding the card going still in the air. Looking over her shoulder, she finds Jasper looking apologetic.

“How do you know it’s safe?” He asks, motioning to the massive door keeping them inside.

“Come on, I’ll show you,“ Clarke says, scanning her card at the same time.

A brief moment of panic settles over the group, a combination of Jasper’s question and the expectation of the door opening immediately. Instead, the terminal screen turns on.

“These are your warriors, Lexa?” Clarke points to a cluster of red dots on a map shown on the screen. Tapping a dot, the view changes to that of a camera, pointed in the direction of the forest off to the side of the main entrance.

At first, there’s nothing to be seen, the green leaves obscuring any sign of warriors. Another tap and the view of the forest changes to monochrome shades of black and white. Suddenly, white shapes vaguely resembling people can be seen crouching on the grey silhouettes of trees in the forest.

“It’s a thermal camera,” Clarke explains. “It’s how the Maunon were able to track people in the forest.”

Lexa and Ryder both stare wide-eyed at the sight in front of them, suddenly aware of just how easy it had been for the Mountain Men to know when they got close. It must have been how they knew to activate the acid fog.

Lexa steps up to the screen to get a closer look at the camera view, scrutinising the shapes of white. She taps the screen curiously, swapping back to a coloured view of the forest, noticing how the white shapes disappear into the cover of leaves in the trees.

When Lexa gives the go-ahead, Clarke goes back into the menu and scans her hand against the glass surface. The sound of the massive locks disengaging starts ringing through the large room, as Clarke steps back beside Lincoln, taking hold of one corner of Raven’s stretcher.

It didn’t take long to get here on horses, but Jackson staring her down Clarke has no choice but to admit that perhaps Raven shouldn’t be riding a horse a day after surgery. 

It’ll be a long way back to TonDC.

————

To her own misfortune, Clarke finds that she is right.

Walking back to TonDC from Mt. Weather is slow, especially when you’re carrying a stretcher between you. Lincoln and Alexis have been taking turns to carry one end, while Clarke refuses to let go of hers.

With Madi chattering away at Monty on the horse up ahead, and with TonDC now visible in the distance, Clarke doesn’t mind so much.

Their trip to Mt. Weather has taken longer than she hoped, and the slow trip back to TonDC is making her even more anxious. The sun is already starting to disappear down behind the canopy above them.

They won’t be able to set off towards Polis today. Clarke doesn’t mention it, doesn’t need to, not with the way Lexa’s tense shoulders have cycled between relief at being back outside and tensing up at.. Well, Clarke can only guess, but the need to be in Polis in just two days can’t help matters.

_ “Are we there yet?” _ Madi’s bright voice carries easily on the wind, ensuring everyone has heard her question. Again. Monty’s Trigedasleng is still far too basic to carry a conversation, but Clarke had translated the question the first time Madi asked.

_ “Almost!”  _ Clarke calls up, catching Madi’s attention.  _ “Can’t you hear it?” _

Sure enough, Maid hasn’t been paying attention to the forest around them, too busy interrogating poor Monty and throwing longing glances at Lexa’s back. 

Madi’s head tilts sideways, just like she does as a wolf. The grin building on her face threatens to split her cheeks in two. Excitedly waving her arm in the direction of TonDC, she agrees enthusiastically.

————

Entering TonDC is anticlimactic. There’s no welcoming committee or sternly impatient Indra expecting a report on their trip. The guards open the gate at the sight of Lexa, letting them through without issue.

The streets are empty, but it’s hardly quiet. The cacophony of conversations and booming voices bounce down the street from the central square with the shared campfires.

Indra must have broken out the alcohol.

Lexa is thankful for the distraction, unwilling to deal with more people at the moment. The trip into the Maun-de has been draining, both physically and mentally. She might have told Clarke to get some sleep, but she hadn’t slept either. Hadn’t been able to with the images of people trapped — frozen — inside metal contraptions deep below the ground.

At first, Lexa had tried. Had even managed to feel the first wisps of sleep gently grasp her, but then the day’s memories came flooding in, and she had jerked when it was Anya’s face, pale and cold, bathed in blue light, that had stared back at her.

Lexa struggles with the thought of just how horrible the Maunon had been; how many years of terror they brought. The weight on her shoulders has only grown with every minute spent inside their fortress; with each new step and breath letting her know just how close she had come to dooming her people.

_ What was I thinking? _

She shakes the morose thoughts of awful deal and what-ifs off, stepping inside the Healing House, immediately setting a course for Anya’s room. She doesn’t wait for Clarke to join her. Doesn’t wait for anyone to join her, but Lincoln still manages to slip into the room ahead of her.

He doesn’t say anything, but the look in his eyes gives him away. “Later,” she mouths, turning her focus to Anya instead. Anya who is buried under a warm fur and sipping more of Nyko’s hearty broth, still fighting against the cold.

_ “Fos,” _ Lexa begins, settling beside Anya.  _ “Back in Arkadia, in your cell, was there ever a blue light from the device by the door?” _ Clarke had thankfully described the cell in detail after their discovery in the Maun-de, so Lexa is able to ask the questions they need answers to.

Just as Anya answers in an affirmative, Clarke and Nyko walk into the room. Lexa wastes no time, quickly exchanging a look with Clarke, who begins to prepare as Lexa informs Anya and Nyko.

_ “We found a prison inside the Maun-de, and we think Abby kom Skaikru used the same method to keep you captive.” _

As Lexa explains the prison and the drugs they found, she keeps a close eye on both the syringe Clarke is slowly filling from one of the vials they brought back, and the way Anya stiffens at the sight of the needle.

_ “As Lexa said, this should help you get better.” _ Clarke offers, giving Anya the chance to back out. They all know it’s symbolic, that Anya would never turn down a chance to get better, no matter how terrified she is of the method. Not that she would ever admit to being terrified.

Anya doesn’t respond verbally, but tilts her head back to give access to her neck. Her lips are pulled into a tight line, refusing to put words to her discomfort.

_ “No, Anya. Stop.” _

Stepping closer, she waits for Anya to acknowledge her. Waits for Anya’s head to relax back down. Her hand finds Anya’s upper arm after a stiff nod of permission.

_ “This won’t be as bad as whatever she did to you,” _ Clarke attempts to reassure Anya, fingers gently circling a spot on her upper arm.  _ “It’s just a small prick in your arm, and a moment later we’ll be done.” _

Anya’s agreement comes quicker this time, more easily. The needle slips into her arm, plunger going down. Clarke steps back, making sure to safely pack the used syringe away.

_ “That’s it. Now you just need to continue doing what Nyko tells you.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize if the medical parts of this chapter are (blatantly) wrong. I only have Google and anecdotal experience to go by, which is why I skipped the actual surgery part and detailed explanations. Hopefully it still makes sense 😅
> 
> I’ve come to realise I really struggle with writing the scenes in Mt. Weather. Think it might be the shifting point of view, or at least just keeping track of everyone as they split up. Very happy they're out of there now, though.
> 
> For those of you that might not know, I've got a smaller story called [Mountains Bleed Black](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27067384/chapters/66088045) that I started writing back in October for a Halloween theme. If you like the supernatural elements in this story, you should definitely check that one out as well 😄


	32. Ch 32 - These blades I'm hiding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey towards Polis is long and tiring, but with the help of horse-drawn wagons and a gift from Clarke, it just might end up tolerable.

A deathly quiet settles across the room as the trembling man finishes reciting the message. Nervous glances flit between scared terrified servants. Nobody dares speak. Nobody dares even look in  _ her  _ direction. To do so could mean death.

**_Weak._ **

With the mood Queen Nia has been in lately, it’s a surprise the messenger is still alive, not to mention still in her throne room. Though judging by the man’s Azgeda armour, there could be a good reason for the Queen’s hesitance.

_ “Why did she send you?” _

The words slip from Nia’s lip with a quiet calm, turning up in a nearly friendly smile towards the end. It’s as fake as it comes, but to anyone else it would be convincing. This is Nia at her most dangerous, when she packages her temper away to focus solely on the task at hand.

Clearly the messenger doesn’t understand the precarious situation he’s found himself in. One misstep will have him pleading to the spirits for a quick death. A death he wouldn’t soon be granted.

_ “My Q-queen, Heda decreed none of her messengers be used. The Ambassadors each picked one of their own people to carry the summons. With Ambassador Teika slain, I was nominated by his Seken, Tayn” _

Well-spoken. Thoughtful and obviously prepared. Perhaps he is more aware of their Queen’s tempers than he lets on. Ambassador Teika had been a smart man, and picked his entourage well it seems. He was loyal to Azgeda and it’s people, which is why Nia let him keep his spot in Polis, despite his personal disagreement with her policies. A man like Teika had been good at placating Heda when needed.

**_Shame he had to die._ **

It seems the Queen understands this too, relaxing slightly against the cold metal of her throne. Still thoughtfully composed and controlled, her eyes scan the messenger’s well-maintained armour, lingering briefly on his ritual scars. A scout, trained for their political delegation. As Nia’s eyes trail across the room, the servants struggle to maintain their composure, shuddering slightly as her gaze leaves them.

_ “Leave us.” _

A dozen pairs of boots hurry across the marbled floor, eager to be away from the Queen’s reach. Not that leaving the room takes them away from her reach, the fools. The heavy spruce wood door closes with a satisfying thud, leaving the room with a much less fearful atmosphere. Leaving the trembling messenger alone with Nia and her most trusted.

_ “Tell me, have our people in Polis adjusted?” _

_ “Your people are well, my Queen. Despite Ambassador Teika’s death, there has been no further action taken against us. Heda’s warriors have been watching carefully. We severed contact with the Scouts as protocol demands, but I believe they had alternate arrangements for this type of situation?” _

Trick question. There’s no ‘our people’ in Azgeda, certainly not with Queen Nia on the throne. The messenger has been trained well, despite his shaky mien. He receives no response to his question, however. Doesn’t need to know.

Instead, the Queen waves over two cloaked men. It’s impossible to tell from looking at them that they aren’t Azgeda. That they’re weak and malleable. Not all tools have to be sharp.

_ “Return to Polis. They know how to contact our Scouts, but need your help to get through the gates.” _

Nia’s focus shifts from the men to the sheet of parchment, writing down what must be instructions for the delegation to prepare for her arrival. Not even Queen Nia can ignore a summons from Heda. Not when the clans are at peace, and certainly not when she would be the only absent clan leader. No, the risks of staying away are too severe, and despite the annoyance flickering across Queen Nia’s face, she signs the sheet with a flick of the wrist, before sealing it with wax.

_ “Bring this to Ambassador Tayn, and convey my condolences for the loss of his Fos.” _

Nia doesn’t sound displeased at all, instead rather pleased with the situation. A rare smile pulls her lips and distorts the ritual scars on her face. Not exactly a pleasant sight, but then the Queen has never cared about much other than power. Intimidation comes to her naturally.

**_She’s a fool._ **

As soon as the messenger and his two new companions have left the throne room, Queen Nia surveys the remaining generals and trusted guards. Appears to search them for any hint of hesitance or deceit. She finds none, of course.

_ “My Queen,” _ The voice rings out strong yet unchallenging.  _ “If I may?” _ Waits for Nia’s gaze to land, piercing, affectionate, and judging all at once. Waits for the minute — barely-there — dip of her head. _ “As you know, your Scouts among the Wastelanders have told of the Skaikru’s quest for Nightblood. The man, Jaha, is returning from Arkadia.” _

The smile that splits Nia’s face is entirely genuine this time. Pulls wide and reveals yellowing teeth. Her eyes twinkle with entirely too much enthusiasm.

_ “Go to him. Find out why they want a Nightblood.” _ The Queen’s eyes gaze down across the space between them. A small shudder; It’s best to appear scared, otherwise the Queen will think her  _ conditioning  _ needs to be repeated.  _ “And, if his plans align with our own…” _

_ “Understood. My Queen.” _

It’s a dismissal and an order all in one. Has to be taken as one, so a respectful bow of the head is aimed at the Queen. Then, striding through the wooden doors, strategies and plans begins to swirl aggressively once again.

**_Finally._ **

————

They step clear of the doorway, waiting outside for a moment to collect themselves. Lexa is moving her shoulders, attempting to clear the tension. Clarke just sighs in relief. Finally, finally they know what’s happened to Anya; enough to help her get better, at least. Anya will have to fill in the blanks later.

_ “Indra will be waiting.” _

Lexa sounds tired. Far more than Clarke has ever noticed in the steadfast woman before. She shrugs in agreement. Indra definitely will be waiting for them, both to question them about why their time at Mt. Weather was nearly a day longer than agreed upon, and hopefully to tell them everything is ready for their trip to Polis.

_ Hopefully. _

_ “Come on then,”  _ Clarke says.

She leads the way away from the stifling warmth of Anya’s room in the Healer’s House, and out into the mid-day sun filtering down through the canopy above. A chill hangs in the air, reminding Clarke of her preparations for winter, weeks earlier, back when she had been alone in the forest.

Clarke quietly takes in the transformation of TonDC in their absence. It’s busier than she remembers, but less organized. Likely due to the addition of Skaikru to their numbers. Mixed groups of both Trikru and Skaikru are carrying planks of wood past the Healer’s House, down to a square by one of the main gates in the wall surrounding TonDC. The loud noises of carpentry — of wood being cut to shape and nails being hammered in — carries easily above the bustle, with orders being shouted out in both Trigedasleng and English.

_ Perhaps we have a chance.. _

They find Indra by a small blacksmiths workshop, one that from the racks loaded with swords and spears and numerous other sharp implements focuses exclusively on weapons. She’s practically hiding away in the heavy shadow and noise from the workshop.

_ “Scared of a few Skaikru, Indra?” _ Lexa jokes, seems to find some energy despite her exhaustion.

The Chief of TonDC turns towards them with a scowl. Unsurprisingly, it stays in place even as she greets them.

_ “They are as loud as a flock of Pauna, and about as uncoordinated,” _ Indra deadpans.

Lexa stays quiet as Indra guides them back to her house, and the quiet office within. Clarke attempts to keep her questions contained, despite the building curiosity surrounding the sounds of construction.

_ “You are late.” _

The three of them are seated in wooden chairs around her map-covered table. It’s the map Clarke remembers from their assault on Mt. Weather months ago, still carrying some of her marks and drawings.

Uncharacteristically, Indra raises a hand to stop Clarke and Lexa from speaking, something she wouldn’t have dared do in public.

_ “It is good you are. A small group of people approached the Maun-de during the night, attempting to gain access through the Reaper tunnels. They wore simple clothes and it was too dark to see if they had any clan symbols, but they were not Skaikru. Came from the wrong direction, and were too familiar with the forest.” _

Indra points to the map, tracing the border drawn around Mt. Weather.  _ “The scouts spotted them here,” _ she taps, indicating a spot north of the mountain. To get there, anyone from Arkadia would have to travel around TonDC without being detected.

_ “They didn’t get in.” _ Clarke interrupts, ignoring Indra’s still-raised hand.

_ “No. They did not. They left soon after, clothes wet from their shoulders. The scout tried to follow them, but horses were waiting close by, allowing them to get away.” _

Clarke nods, explaining Indra’s unspoken question.  _ “All entrances to the Maun-de have been sealed. I flooded the reaper tunnels, so anyone trying to get through has to swim. If they were Maunon, some of the few survivors, their keys wouldn’t work either. There’s only one way in.” _

Indra shoots a glance at Lexa, nodding in agreement. _ “They did not get in, but it is worrying they tried. This is the first time we’ve seen anyone but Skaikru attempting to gain access.” _

The follow-up question goes unasked. Just how many times have they tried to get in before now? For them to have horses means they have help, and the attempt to use the Reaper tunnels suggests either Maunon survivors themselves, or someone they’re helping gain access.

_ “The Ambassadors will have much to discuss when we get to Polis.” _ Lexa sounds almost bored, but the tension in her shoulders is only building with every moment.  _ “And Arkadia?” _

_ “Nothing. They have been quiet. An attempt has been made at repairing the wall, but it still has gaping holes. Warriors have been lined up on the ground to protect them, and so far only a single group of hunters have left and returned empty-handed. Abby kom Skaikru has not been seen since your people escaped, Wanheda.” _

With Abby busy, and the lack of Kane, Jackson and Sinclair, the Council will almost certainly be in too much turmoil to mount any expeditions to Mt. Weather. With the increased number of Scouts surrounding Arkadia, there’s no chance of anyone from Arkadia making it so far without being spotted.

It’s a relief that is shared by all three of them, exchanging weary smiles. They know it won’t last, of course, but a temporary reprieve is the best they have been able to hope for.

_ “I will send more Scouts when we get to Polis. Perhaps a camp at the Maun-de’s main entrance will deter any more expeditions.” _

With the topic back on Polis, Indra brightens significantly.

————

Leaving Indra’s house behind them, Clarke and Lexa split up to ready their respective groups for the long trip to Polis. They can’t wait another night, not if they want to make it in time for the scheduled meeting with the other clan leaders. With the sun having already passed its high point, they need to get going soon.

Clarke finds Kane first. The sleeves on his tattered Skaikru shirt are rolled up to the elbows and beads of sweat trail down his neck. He hasn’t noticed her yet, hard at work beside a Trikru warrior mounting a wheel to a large flatbed wagon.

It’s such a contrast to the usually reserved and sterile appearance of the Council members. Like someone pulled him from a meeting, and he just went right to work. It’s a good look on him, Clarke has to admit. There seems to be a marked decrease in animosity between the two groups of her people, the ‘adults’ and the ‘delinquents’. Perhaps it’s Kane’s willingness to step in, or perhaps it’s just being away from Arkadia.

Whatever the reason, it warms something within Clarke. Makes her recall her earlier thought, that they just might be able to pull this off. That one day, hopefully, they will have peace.

“Need a hand there?”

Clarke’s question startles both Kane and the Trikru warrior with her sudden proximity. The warriors eyes widen at the sight of her, but no fear creeps across her features, further easing Clarke’s worries for the future.

“Hey Clarke, we’re almost ready here. We just need to get the last wheel on, and then get everyone ready. The Trikru has already packed everything they need on the old wagons.”

With the extra pair of hands and Clarke’s added strength, they make quick work of the wagon. It stands finished before they know it, and another group of people quickly swoop in to drag it away towards the stables, where the horses are waiting. Clarke and Kane step out of the way of the people still bustling about.“Looks like you and Harper did a good job keeping things under control. Thank you.”

Kane pulls her to a stop, turning so he can look at both Clarke and the busy people behind them.

“You know, I never thought it could be like this.” He begins, swallowing hard as his eyes scan what must have been a wide street before the bombs fell, but has now been turned into a square within the city of TonDC. “We were so frightened of them when we came down. Thought them to be savages.”

“I don’t know how to say it, Clarke. I’m not even sure I can… If I knew then,” Kane points to the blue sky filtering through the leaves above, “what I know now.. I’d do so many things differently.” He sighs, and Clarke abruptly remembers that Kane had been the one to push for sending the 100 delinquents to the ground.

“Then help me change things now.”

Kane scans the area again, lips pulling up into a genuine grin. “I think you’ve already changed things, Clarke, but I’ll help where I can.”

————

The group travelling to Polis turns out to be much larger than Clarke had expected it would be. All of the surviving delinquents, except for Octavia who wants to stay behind with Indra, and the older Skaikru that Kane had convinced to escape as well make up nearly 80 people.

But they’re not alone. No, a contingent of warriors have joined them on Indra’s orders, protecting both people and the wagons meant to carry supplies back from Polis. All in all, the group numbers just over 100.

The convoy sets off in the middle of the afternoon, attempting to make the most of the remaining daylight, but everyone is well aware they won’t make it all the way today.

Clarke rides side by side with Lexa at the front, having stolen Madi away from Monty’s broken attempts at speaking with her in Trig. A minute longer and Clarke is certain Monty would give up and start teaching Madi swear words in English.

Madi doesn’t mind at all, eager to be back in Clarke’s arms and incredibly excited about being back on top of a horse. Unlike everyone else, Madi had no problems sleeping within Mt. Weather, and Clarke is just a  _ little  _ jealous.

_ “How did Anya take the news?” _

Going from the sour mood and angry words that had spilled from the woman when they left TonDC, not very well, but Clarke wants the story from Lexa. She’s given up trying to stay away, unable to fight the pull between them for much longer. A small reprieve can’t hurt, can it?

_ “Nyko ordered her to stay on the wagon for the entire trip.” _ Lexa sniggers. Doesn’t even try to hide it, either, and the mirth is infectious _. “Told her that if Reivon can lay down for the trip, so can she. None of her arguments were enough to convince him otherwise.” _

But they must have been enough to convince Nyko to join them instead. Clarke looks back over her shoulder, taking in the scene of Nyko riding beside the wagon with Anya and Raven. Noticing Clarke’s attention, he looks up and smirks at her before turning back to reprimand Anya’s attempt at sitting up.

Even with the size of the group slowing them down, they’re still making good time. Indra’s idea to build several flatbed wagons for Skaikru to rest on has been a fantastic time-saver, allowing them to continue until the sun is just about to come down.

With the sun setting, Lexa and her warriors insist on just another push before they make camp, knowing an easily defensible clearing lies up ahead, often used by traders and large groups of travellers to rest overnight.

With the darkness growing in density faster and faster, three warriors ride up ahead to prepare campfires, meant to provide both heat and light to set up camp around. Something that turns out to have been necessary, as night is upon them when they arrive.

Immediately jumping into action, the carts and wagons are placed around the perimeter of the camp, forming a defensive wall around both small and large tents that go up fast with the help of Lexa’s warriors.

Clarke doesn’t have a tent. She hadn’t needed one in the forest, not with her comfortable cave and heavy furs. Madi’s wolf form had no need for a warm tent or protection against the wind either. Now though, back in human form, she will need the protection against the elements.

With Madi holding her hand, Clarke walks around the makeshift camp, helping out here and there, making sure that the large tents for Skaikru go up without a problem, and that each tent has prepared food and water for the night.

Having reserved a small corner in the tent with Monty and the rest of the delinquents, Clarke sets about getting ready for the night when she spots something. Something that can’t wait.

Leaving Madi with Monty is a practised response by now. He only smiles down at Madi, waving at her and digging out his tablet that she’s grown to love. Madi might not know how to use it, but she loves looking at pictures on the screen.

Clarke smiles softly at the pair, not sure how her little family has managed to grow so much in just a few short months on the ground.

She leaves them behind, letting her feet carry her towards Lexa’s tent.

————

_ “Lexa, can I come in?” _

The voice belongs to Clarke, uncertain and hesitant. It’s such a difference to the confident and assertive version of her that Lexa has grown so used to in just a few days. So similar and yet so completely different to Clarke from before Mt. Weather; before Lexa’s decision had torn them apart and revealed Clarke’s nature to herself.

_ “Of course, come in.” _

Lexa looks around the bare tent, nothing like her usual travel arrangement and just a fraction of the size of the war tent. Just a bedroll with a few furs, and her travel pack and outer armour hanging on hooks on the central tent-pole. Certainly nothing big enough to entertain guests.

Clarke looks even more uncertain than she sounded, wearing a lost expression and peering at Lexa with an unreadable glance. Her hands gripping at the air around her, and it’s obvious to both of them that she’s uncomfortable with whatever has brought her here. Lexa steadfastly pushes away the thoughts about how adorable Clarke looks like this.

_ “I…” _ Clarke begins. Her hand coming to a stop, before suddenly seeking out one of the daggers at her side.

So this is it. Clarke has changed her mind. About Lexa and about the alliance. About Skaikru. After seeing the inside of the Maun-de for herself, Lexa can’t find it in her to be upset. Clarke deserves revenge if that’s what she wants. Deserves to find whatever peace she can.

_ “..xa? Lexa!” _

The insistent call of her name pulls Lexa from her thoughts, but what she finds isn’t what she expected. There’s no knife to her throat. No slowly bleeding wounds.

No, Clarke is standing in front of her with a worried expression. The dagger isn’t pointed at her either. It’s held up in Clarke’s hand, an offering.

Her own dagger. The one she gave Clarke.

_ She’s returning it? _

_ “Klark, I wanted you to have it.” _

Perhaps Clarke doesn’t understand. Perhaps she does, and this is her way of telling Lexa that it isn’t possible. Lexa opens her mouth, trying to come up with the words to sound grateful for getting it back. Something she knows she’ll utterly fail at.

_ “I know,” _ Clarke manages to speak before her,  _ “and it’s not the one you gave me.” _

Clarke’s other hand taps another dagger at her waist, allowing Lexa’s gaze to take in the vast amount of knives both visible and hidden in Wanheda’s armour, but inevitably they’re dragged back to the dagger in her hand.

The dagger that looks newer than Lexa’s did. The one with a handle just a shade darker, but with a blade that looks just as wickedly sharp as the one she gave Clarke. It’s only now that Lexa notices the thin engraving of Wanheda’s Mark on the blade itself, reflecting the flickering light of the tent’s solitary torch.

_ Oh. _

_ “I met a blacksmith in Drom, who adjusted my swords and made me some smaller blades. He saw the dagger you gave me, and insisted he make its opposite. _ ” Clarke hesitates, but her eyes are pulsing softly, calmly.  _ “I don’t know why. I wanted to give yours back, at first, but the moment I held this in my hand, I just knew.” _

_ “I want you to have it, Lexa.” _

_ Oh. _

A shaky hand reaches out to run a finger down the cold metal, reverently taking in the details. It’s a near perfect match for her own and, if Lexa is right, made by the same blacksmith. Fingers gently folding around the smooth walnut handle, Lexa lifts it and tests its balance. It’s perfect.

Thanking Clarke would be inappropriate. Lexa had already shared her thoughts when she gave away her own dagger, offering protection for Clarke in a time of strife.

Instead, the dagger finds its way into the empty sheath at her waist, feeling a lump form in her throat as the feeling of being naked without her knife disappears, replaced by a blooming warmth of safety and protection.

Clarke looks just about to say something. Unsure about Lexa’s sudden silence and the tear that’s escaped her tight control. Maybe Clarke isn’t as sure about their customs as her actions would lead Lexa to believe. Maybe — just maybe — it doesn’t matter.

With slow careful steps, Lexa steps into Clarke’s personal space. Inches forward until they’re just a breath apart. Her eyes dip to Clarke’s lips, and can feel them growing brighter in excitement. She leans forward, tilting her head sideways for better access.

Soft. So soft. Rational thought leaves Lexa as her trembling lips finally meet Clarke’s. It’s chaste at first, as Clarke stands still in surprise, but before Lexa has even thought about pulling back, Clarke surges back into her. It’s still soft, but it’s so much more. Clarke pushes against her, eliminating any space between them as Lexa is manoeuvred up against the central tent-pole.

_ Klark. _

That’s the main thought racing through Lexa. Clarke accepted her offering months ago, before the Maun-de. Lexa left her, betrayed her, and still Clarke accepted her dagger. Kept it, and used it to protect herself. She melts as Clarke pulls her closer still, parting her lips as Clarke nibbles softly at Lexa’s lower lip.

_ Klark. _

Clarke came back, but didn’t hate her. She was angry, yes, but Lexa understands. And still, Clarke gave her an offering of her own. The thought makes Lexa push back at little, demanding control of the kiss for a moment to show her appreciation. Lexa isn’t sure what changed. Doesn’t know what made Clarke accept her, made her want Lexa.

With Clarke’s mouth shifting away, Lexa attempts to voice her approval. Attempts to put words to the gratitude flowing through her at Clarke’s reciprocal courting.

All that comes out, however, is a drawn out  _ “Klark…” _ as Clarke’s mouth finds the sensitive spot on her neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas and happy holidays!!🎄🎄
> 
> I hope you’re all having a wonderful time, whether you celebrate Christmas or not! :)  
> Had intended to get this chapter out in time for the morning, but I got caught up in a minor food coma yesterday, so had to finish it up today :0
> 
> I know this chapter has been something we’ve all been waiting for since the beginning of the story, and I swear I had no idea it would take 120k words to get here! Genuinely, my original estimate for the entire story was somewhere between 60-80k words, so a “somewhat slow” burn turned into a “what the hell are you doing, KISS ALREADY"-slow burn. 
> 
> Can’t wait to see what you think of this chapter!


	33. Ch 33 - Smells like home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Lexa have a much-needed talk about what’s happening between them, before they travel the last distance to Polis.

All that comes out, however, is a drawn out  _ “Klark…” _ as Clarke’s mouth finds the sensitive spot on her neck.

————

Lexa loses herself in the kiss. Her perception of time stretches and warps, until a second feels like an aeon and nothing more than a heartbeat all in one. Everything drops away, until all that’s left for Lexa to think about is Clarke.

Clarke, whose arms are wrapped gently around Lexa, a hand traces circles in the small hairs at the base of her neck, pulling her further into Clarke’s embrace. Somehow, between shared breaths and emotion-laden gazes, Lexa finds herself pushed up against the central tent-pole. Finds herself trapped.

She never wants to leave.

For once, there’s no discord within her. No warring thoughts or complaints register. Even Heda seems content within her, not communicating with words, but almost humming with a satisfied energy.

Clarke’s other hand traces across Lexa’s side, over the thin cloth making up her innermost layer of armour. A shiver travels up through Lexa, automatically attempting to move sensitive skin away from Clarke’s wandering hands.

_ “Are you ticklish?” _ Clarke pulls back, just enough to whisper each word before diving back in to plant small kisses. First at the edge of Lexa’s lips, but then trailing down her chin, seemingly eager to get back to the spot on Lexa’s neck. The one that had made her mind go blank.

Lexa wants to let her. Wants to give herself over to Clarke entirely, but she knows that it would end with them entangled in her bedsheets, altogether too small and uncomfortable for what Lexa wants. Not to mention her tent is in the middle of camp, surrounded by warriors and Skaikru.

She tilts her head to stop Clarke, instead seeking her out for another kiss. One that immediately has Lexa regretting her decision, and one that she knows she has to stop.

Lexa leans back, breathing heavily. She takes in the hungry expression in Clarke’s eyes, dilated pupils attempting to devour her. Lexa wants her to. But not here, not now. She doesn’t push Clarke away, unwilling to lose the warmth and intimacy of their embrace.

Leaving one arm hooked firmly around Clarke’s waist, Lexa lets the other trail down Clarke’s arms, feeling goosebumps forming with every little swirl, before letting it drop to her side. It’s a momentous effort to concentrate on what she needs to say. What Lexa has been planning to talk with Clarke about, should her affections ever be returned.

Lexa doesn’t know what Clarke can read from her own expression. Isn’t sure if her happiness is still visible. She wants Clarke. Wants her  _ so  _ much, but they’re not just Clarke and Lexa, they’re also Heda and Wanheda.

_ “Klark..” _ Lexa begins haltingly. _ “We should stop.” _

Fear. She hates to admit it. Hates the emotion itself, at times irrational and other times life-saving. This time? Lexa isn’t certain, but she knows that now is not the best time.

Her hand betrays her words however, reaching out against Lexa’s wishes. Trails small patterns on the back of Clarke’s hand; lines and curves blurring into shapes unrecognisable shapes. Clarke stays quiet. Gives Lexa the time she needs to compose herself, without judgement.

_ “I want you. I want this.” _ Lexa rushes to assure Clarke, tightening the arm around her slightly, nodding down at her dagger hanging from Clarke’s belt.  _ “That is why I gave you my dagger. I wanted you to be safe. To return to me..” _

Clarke is confused, and Lexa knows her hesitance isn’t helping. Knows that she needs to put words to her worry. _ “But, I am the Commander, Klark. Host to Heda. Due to the conflict with Skaikru, the other clan leaders will not be happy if they think me biased towards Skaikru.” _ The ‘again’ goes unsaid, both vividly remembering the long, heated, arguments in Lexa’s war tent to establish the alliance in the first place. They both recall the reticence among the clans at Clarke’s inclusion. Practically baulked at Skaikru’s use of technology during the assault on Mt. Weather.

_ “That you are also Wanheda…”  _ Lexa trails off, unsure how to continue. She knows what needs to be said. Has even planned for it while observing the stars on sleepless nights.

_ “They fear me.” _ Clarke says.

And yes, they do. Clarke hasn’t even bothered phrasing it as a question. It’s well-known that Wanheda is feared across the clans. Feared for her relation to death, and how she tends to only appear when disasters and catastrophes are about to happen.

Only few know better. The Nightbloods have records of Wanheda’s actions throughout history, scant and scattered as it is, but records nonetheless. They know her as a protector of their people. Know that Wanheda might be linked to death, but that she’s far more focused on saving lives than taking them. Always has been, and she always will be.

Lexa doesn’t want anything to get between them. She wants to treasure this thing they have, protect it and nurture it; wants to watch it bloom and glow into something beautiful. Something sturdy. Something that will last.

_ “Hey, look at me.” _ Clarke cups Lexa’s chin, dipping in for a chaste kiss before straightening back up.  _ “I want this too,” _ she admits, hand moving in the small space between their chests.  _ “I don’t know any of the current leaders, Lexa. I barely remember any of them from my previous hosts, as I only saw them from afar.” _

So Clarke doesn’t know. Lexa hadn’t been sure. The records on Wanheda’s movements became much less detailed after the bombs, and it’s only Clarke’s recent revelations that Lexa is starting to put the pieces together.

_ “I have a plan.” _ Lexa hears herself say, a little too lost in Clarke’s gaze to properly focus on what she’s saying.

————

Clarke leaves the heated air of Lexa’s tent. Steps out into the darkness, feeling the chill of the night and the glare of the moon overhead. She leaves Lexa behind, having said their goodbyes with a quick kiss and whispered words.

Lexa is right. They need to be careful. Clarke hadn’t considered the political angle before. Hadn’t realised the precariousness of the Coalition in the aftermath of Mt. Weather’s fall. With Azgeda warriors attacking villages and running into Madi’s family and Jaha openly hunting Nightbloods, the situation is balancing on a knife’s edge.

That Clarke announced her presence by leaving said Azgeda warriors beheaded and branded with her mark might not have been the best approach. She shrugs. Nothing to do about it now.

Lexa’s smiling face swims to the front of Clarke’s mind, and she finds herself hard-pressed to keep walking away from her tent. Has to force herself, one feet in front of the other. Only the knowledge — the bone-deep relief — that Lexa more than returns her feelings keep the frustration at bay.

She might have been right. Might know the other leaders better than Clarke ever could, but to stay apart? To pretend to still be hurt over Lexa’s betrayal at Mt. Weather?

It chafes at Clarke. It’s necessary, of course. She’s well aware of that, but it feels wrong to be away from Lexa know. Feels like a piece of her is missing, which is something Clarke finds both terrifying and exhilarating all at once. Not something she ever expected to be able to feel again.

But she’ll do it. Clarke can pretend to be nothing more than cordial to Lexa in public. She can restrain herself, for a while. As soon as it’s safe, however, there will be nothing stopping Clarke. Not after having spent far too long fighting her emotions.

Her feet lead her towards the Skaikru tent. Towards Monty and Madi. Stepping inside, Clarke is met with a wave of heat and the smell of sweat rolling out towards her. Quickly closing the tent flap behind her, she turns and steps around the mass of people. Some are already asleep, while others are whispering quietly— excitedly. They’re happy to be away from Arkadia and TonDC. Happy to put some distance between them and their conflict, but many are wary and afraid of what Polis will be like. Clarke has to admit she’s curious too.

Madi sits in Monty’s lap, enraptured by the tablet held out in front of her. Doesn’t even notice Clarke’s approach.

“I put on a Disney film. Tangled.” Monty whispers. “I don’t think she understands much of it, but she’s a big fan of Rapunzel’s frying pan.”

Kneeling down in front of them, it’s clear that Madi still hasn’t noticed them. Eyes glued to the screen, she jumps slightly when Clarke reaches out to stroke her hair. Madi is clearly exhausted, eyes floating a little as she attempts to focus on Clarke, blinking slowly as if her eyelids are extra heavy.

_ “Come on you, time to sleep.” _

Madi doesn’t put up a fight as Monty turns off the tablet, promising she can finish the film another day. Opening her arms for Clarke, Madi latches on and breathes in heavily. Her brow scrunches up slightly. Moving in closer, Madi sniffs at Clarke’s neck, reminiscent of her wolf form.

_ “You smell like Lexa,” _ Madi mumbles sleepily.

_ “I do?” _

Clarke attempts to contain her smile, focusing on getting ready for the night. Their bedroll is laid out right beside Monty’s, who shifts under his own furs, yawning. It seems to be contagious, the yawn quickly spreading through the delinquents in the tent.

_ “Smells nice…” _

Madi trails off into a soft snore. Clarke looks down at the affectionate bundle in her arms. She isn’t sure how she got to this point, but with Madi in her arms, Monty beside them and Lexa just a tent away, Clarke feels content. Feels happy, like maybe everything will turn out just fine.

————

Unlike the Trikru warriors who were on night watch, Lexa is well rested and bursting with energy in the morning. It takes them a little longer than usual to get ready. Skaikru aren’t used to the physical toll it can take to travel between cities. The food and rest has evidently helped, but but the unfamiliar sleeping arrangements have hit the adults especially hard.

Lexa can’t help but wonder how they expected to make it here on the ground had they truly been alone. Perhaps their unwavering confidence in Tek? Perhaps they have books with the knowledge of their ancestors, like the libraries of Polis?

She shrugs. She might never know. These Skaikru have given up their Tek in exchange for a life on the ground. A hard life, perhaps, but a life they can live. A life that lets them outside of the metal shell they’ve lived in all their lives.

Clarke.

She can’t stop looking at her. Can’t stop thinking about her. The weight of the dagger Clarke gave her rest comfortingly at Lexa’s waist, carefully turned with Wanheda’s mark facing inwards, towards Lexa’s body.

Eyes wander without permissions, stealing glances of Clarke. Of the young Nightblood in her lap. Lexa’s heart hasn’t stopped beating rapidly since Clarke kissed her. She doesn’t think it ever will. She hates the distance between them, wanting to reach out and just  _ be  _ with her.

Instead, Lexa sits back in her saddle, posture straight and regal. The brush of trees is slowly thinking out, and Lexa is well aware that posturing will soon be required. She loves Polis, she really does, but the city has far too many eyes to let her guard down.

However, Lexa can’t wait for Skaikru — for Clarke, and for Madi — to see Polis for the first time. She’s proud of her people. Proud of what they’ve built from the ruins of the old world.

Somehow, Clarke isn’t the first to notice, too absorbed with Maid’s enthusiasm for meeting more children her age. Not to mention the promise Lexa had let slip back in TonDC; that she would happily train Madi if Clarke lets her. Training not just with Lexa, but with the other Nightbloods. Lexa still faintly feels that excitement every time she’s around them. They’re her family — all of them — by the shade of their blood, if not by the blood itself.

No, it’s not Clarke that spots the Tower of Polis through the receding leaves. Kane lets out an astonished gasp, jaw dropping at the sight of twisted gleaming metal and worn concrete. Lexa struggles to suppress her mirth, still feeling the emotional high of Clarke’s affections.

Polis is indeed impressive, and they’ve seen nothing yet.

As they crest the hill they’ve been climbing, it doesn’t take long for silence to settle over the group of Skaikru. Even her Trikru warriors take a long moment to appreciate the sight of the massive city sprawling out before them.

It’s not just the Tower. From there, the various districts of Polis are clearly visible within the ringed wall running around the entire city. A capitol, yes, but it’s also a fortress in its own right. Large enough to be considered a clan in and of itself, it has instead been crowned the Capital of the Coalition. Despite it’s location on Trikru land, it is home to people from every clan; even a few clan-less nomads call it home on occasion.

Lexa observes them take it all in, though her focus is primarily on Clarke and Madi. Pride swells in her chest at the awe visible on Clarke’s face. This thing they have — this thing between them, it’s still too new to put into words; they’ve both agreed to keep it secret, but seeing the way Clarke is looking at Polis makes Lexa want to capture that expression and store it away. Madi seems no less enraptured by the sight. There’s a sparkle in her eyes, one that Lexa has only seen a few times, and only when Lexa told her stories of the Nightbloods and Madi’s grandfather.

She nudges her horse back into a gentle walk, gesturing for everyone to follow along. The warriors quickly follow her lead, all aware of her rigid posture. Soon they’ll be within range of the Polis Guard and their outer scouts.

————

Polis is  _ big _ . With the Tower of Polis jutting up from the ground like a half-broken shimmering sword, it’s all Clarke can do to keep breathing. All she can do to keep her reaction in check. Clarke is  _ old _ . She remembers the cities from before the bombs had fallen and turned polished chrome metal and dark asphalt to brownish-grey rubble.

In her mind's eye, Clarke tries to compare the image before her to the cities she remembers visiting in her old body. Tries to map the high walls surrounding Polis to the highway networks that used to connect everything, but it’s too confusing. Everything is a mismatch of ancient construction and modern layout. What could easily pass for castle walls — high and intimidating, but made from a mismatch of ageing concrete, sheet-metal, and wood — sitting behind numerous farms and and small villages scattered around the landscape, forms a protective barrier for the city proper.

And a city it is. There’s no doubt about it.

Visiting Drom — even just seeing Drom — had been eye-opening to Clarke. Had put into perspective just how large and populous the Coalition must be, a stark contrast to the thinly populated TonDC.

_ Well.. It wasn’t really TonDC. Just a fake. _

A fake that had been built to fool the inhabitants of Mt. Weather, and a fake that had fooled Skaikru as well. Very successfully. It hadn’t been until Clarke saw the Coalition army forming before their assault on the Mountain Men that she realised the Coalition was larger than anyone had thought.

Getting closer to Polis, the party leaves the well-trod forest trail, soon coming onto an actual dirt road that leads straight towards Polis. They pass in between farms, similar to the ones Clarke and Madi had seen around Drom, but this is the first time Skaikru is getting a close look. The lush fields and well-tended orchards leave most of her people gaping. The sight of actual live-stock, herds of cows and sheep grazing lazily on the grass; pigs squealing and playing in the distance, kicking up clouds of dirt.

Clarke alternates between observing her own people and attempting to avoid gaping at the approaching sprawl of the city. She likes to think herself marginally successful, but with Madi excitedly bouncing in the saddle in front of her and pointing out new things with every breath, it’s hard to keep up.

Soon massive gates tower ahead of them— open during the day, according to Lexa. Traffic steadily throws through them, some immediately heading down smaller roads to nearby villages. The travellers far too busy to pay any heed to their group’s approach. A detachment of guards forms at the base of the wall at the sight of their groups approach, however, visibly steeling themselves for a potential conflict. The moment they spot Lexa — their Commander — they all relax marginally, settling back into their normal watchful stances.

Lexa raises a hand to stop the convoy, resulting in some murmured confusion.

“Only warriors on active duty are allowed weapons inside the Capitol.”

Lexa repeats the warning she’d given Clarke the night before, just before she left. Luckily Skaikru doesn’t have all that many weapons, just two handguns and the rifle Clarke stole from Arkadia’s armoury. The weapons have been given back out for the trip to Polis, having been secured during their stay in TonDC.

They informed Kane about it in the morning, so he is well-prepared for this. He dismounts his horse, quickly handing over his own pistol and ammunition to Ryder, who stands ready with two sacks to keep the items separate. Jasper comes up to deposit his rifle, and Sinclair follows suit with the remaining firearm.

Ceremoniously, Ryder moves to the front of the group, handing over the sack of unloaded weapons to the officer in charge at the gate. Ryder keeps a tight hold on the sack of ammunition, making it clear the two sacks are to be separated.

The officer quickly examines the weapons in the sack, and trusting his Commander’s bodyguard to keep the ammunition safe, he nods. However, when he looks up to scan the group, his eyes land on Clarke’s armour. Clarke, who still has both her swords, her dagger and all of her throwing knives. Weapons that she has absolutely no intention of handing over.

“You! Azgeda,” he nearly spits, “hand over your weapons!”

_ Huh. Almost forgot what it was like not to be recognized. Must be too bright. _

Beside her, Lexa looks on with her usual stoic mask fixed firmly in place, though Clarke doubts she’s imagining the slight upturning of Lexa’s lips. Clarke’s stare finds the officer’s, but there’s no spark of recognition. She sits more rigid in the saddle, arm protectively in front of Madi, who has gone quiet at the potential conflict. Clarke is just about to speak up. Just about to tell the man who she is—

“She is with me.” Lexa’s voice rings out, carrying easily over the noise of the bustle of the city. Her posture and tone of voice demands attention— demands to be obeyed.

The way the officer’s eyes dart between Lexa and Clarke, that’s clearly not what he had expected to hear. The angry expression fades away to be confusion and a light frown.

“My apologies, Commander.” His eyes shift back to Clarke, travelling over her features and stopping briefly to stare at Madi. “My orders—“

“Your orders still stand. Only guards, clan leaders or Nightbloods are allowed weapons inside the walls.” Lexa says. A loaded glance is exchanged with Clarke, who nods imperceptibly.

“As you know, Wanheda is not bound by our laws.” Lexa explains patiently. As one, every guard turns to face Clarke. In the daylight, her glowing eyes are barely visible, but the colour must be enough and Lexa had warned Clarke that her description had been shared after Mt. Weather. She is also the protector of a young Nightblood.”

The officer gapes. He’s not the only one. Lexa clicks her tongue and her horse starts walking forward. Clarke follows suit, keeping pace beside Lexa as they move through the gate, guards quickly making way for them. When they move through the shadow cast by the wall, gasps ring out as Clarke’s eyes suddenly stand out in stark contrast.

Nobody attempts to stop them.

————

Leaving the guards at the gate behind, their group forms a tight line as they travel slowly down a large road leading in the direction of the city centre.

The buildings immediately behind the gate are spaced unevenly. Some seem almost like farm-buildings, barns and silos placed near the gate for easy access. Others are more residential, mostly wooden single-story houses, each with their own little private spaces. Remnants of the old world appear here and there. The cobblestone road occasionally broken up by patches of ageing asphalt. Brick and mortar buildings still stand, façades worn but well-maintained.

Polis is  _ beautiful. _

It’s nothing like Drom. Nothing like the thin, narrow streets packed tightly with houses and market stalls. It doesn’t have the same feeling of being pushed together, to be able to fit everything behind the walls. No, Polis is  _ massive _ . Like a village that keeps going with each step taken by her horse, growing denser and denser towards the centre.

Just up ahead, a line of bright white stones in the road denote a change in district. The houses on either side aren’t too different structurally, still a mixture of old brick and mortar, and new wooden construction.

It’s like night and day.

Until now it’s been spartan. Utilitarian. Buildings used for storage of goods and food, extensions of the farms outside the walls. Empty houses waiting for the population growth to catch up, maintained by a group of volunteers and craftsmen.

On the other side, however, colours and decorations dance across every surface; doors painted in bright greens and calming browns, some marked with a clan emblem, like the bold black lines and red dots of the Trikru emblem, while others use the clan colours more for more abstract designs.

Like families  _ live  _ in these houses, taking pride in their appearance and making them theirs. Despite road running from the outer wall to the city centre and the busy traffic it carries, there’s a distinct lull in the air. A feeling of safety and calm that Clarke has never felt before. Not aboard the Ark. Not in her time in the forest. Not in Drom, and not even in the tent with Lexa last night.

It’s captivating. Glancing sideways at Lexa, Clarke takes in her gentle smile and the way pride seems to shine from her very being. She should be proud. Polis is unlike anything Clarke has imagined it would be.

Another line in the road is followed by a tangible difference in atmosphere. The air is charged, electric. Everything is just a bit busier. Just a bit more lively. A few houses sport painted signs, pictograms of services and wares offered. Up ahead, the road is widening, opening up into a square similar to the one in Drom.

_ “Mom look!” _ Madi’s excited shout captures Clarke’s attention. Captures everyone’s attention. Following Madi’s raised hand, pointing towards the square, Clarke notices a gap in the forming crowd. People have come out of their houses, lining up to greet them, but up ahead there’s a veritable crowd waiting for them.

“I sent a few warriors ahead to prepare for our arrival.”

Of course she did. Lexa seems to have a plan ready for everything. As they reach the square, some of the warriors travelling with the group peel off, taking their carts to be refilled with supplies for the return to TonDC. Lexa stops in front of the waiting group, looking down at a dour bald man, who looks supremely annoyed. When Lexa dismounts Clarke follows suit, distinctly aware of her people following along behind her.

_ “Commander, I must insist—“ _

_ “Titus.” _

Lexa interrupts the man, a line forming between her brows. So this is the man Clarke had been warned of, the one that wanted her dead, before even meeting her. Madi squirms nervously in Clarke’s arms, eyes roaming over the group in front of them.

Keeping her laughter in is difficult when Lexa turns her back to Titus, instead beckoning over a well-dressed woman from the crowd. It’s made more difficult when Titus grinds his teeth but says nothing, eyes pointedly burning holes in Lexa’s back.

_ “Is it done?” _ When she receives a positive answer from the woman, Lexa swivels to address Skaikru. “Temporary lodging has been prepared in a building reserved for visiting delegations. Deyne here will help you get settled.” She shares a few quiet words with Deyne, pointing out Kane and Jasper as the two spokespeople to go to if Clarke isn’t available.

They already discussed this. Lexa had mentioned that Nightbloods are given rooms in the Tower itself, under the direct protection of Lexa herself. Something she wanted to offer Madi, to ensure her protection in the populous city. Clarke will never part from her, and her status as both Wanheda and leader of Skaikru easily affords her a room in the Tower as well.

“Klark kom Skaikru — Wanheda — will join the other clan leaders and myself in the Tower.”

Lexa still faces Skaikru, informing them as a courtesy, but the statement is meant for Titus. Clarke attempts to keep a placid expression plastered on her face as she observes him. Meets his shocked and incredulous glare with her own. One she hopes appears confident and aloof.

Titus pales in recognition as his eyes lock on Clarke’s pulsating purple ones. Raising her brow slightly, she forces a gentle smile that absolutely doesn’t reach her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!
> 
> I hope you have had a wonderful holiday and that you managed to celebrate the beginning of a new year :) 
> 
> Personally celebrated alone this year, which was a shame, but still managed to have a good time with friends and family over the internet!   
> Did end up taking a break from writing for a bit, getting caught up in Final Fantasy XIV again. Gosh that game is far too much fun to just run around exploring. 
> 
> We’re getting into the last third of the story now, so I can’t wait to hear your thoughts as all the various plot-lines start tying together into (hopefully) a cohesive last act. 😄


	34. Ch 34 - The storm is brewing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Monty, finding his way around Polis is difficult.  
> For Clarke, Polis brings difficult memories.  
> For Lexa, Polis holds duties she would rather not do.

It crunches beneath the steady hooves of their horses. Soft. Brittle. The layer of snow is still thin enough to travel at speed, barely slowing the seasoned Azgeda warriors down.

The onset of winter has begun. The slow creeping chill from the north, sapping trees of the remaining yellow leaves, the ground beginning to grow studier, harder.

The small group has been travelling for days. Queen Nia might be many things, but when she gives an order, you do not delay. Not unless you have very important news.

At least she’s not with them. They can travel swiftly, any luxuries have been left behind in the Azgeda capital, carrying only the bare essentials needed by hardened warriors.

With Azgeda behind them, the terrain surrounding them has changed. Still cold. Still barren. The borderlands between Azgeda, Broadleaf and the Lake People have always been contested land. Largely uninhabited, it’s allowed to grow wild and untamed. Allowed to thrive in ways that even the Broadleaf and Trikru forests aren’t.

Beautiful and inviting.

An ideal to strive towards.

Frosted grass stands defiantly in between patches of windblown snow. Still lush, just frozen in place from the freezing temperatures. It’s a vast difference from just earlier in the morning, safely back in Azgeda territory where everything had been covered in a thin layer of white.

Nothing to worry about yet, but enough for her warriors to move a little faster. To push their horses into a gentle trot, taking care not to work their animals into a sweat. Even so, they’ll have to stop soon. With the reduced amount of daylight these days, the sun is already crawling down towards the horizon.

_“We’ll set up camp over there!”_

Ontari doesn’t stop. Doesn’t turn her head to see if her warriors have acknowledged her order. Instead, she briefly points out the patch of trees jutting out from the forest up ahead, creating a patch of ground sheltered from the wind in two directions.

It will still be cold, but they’re used to that. These are some of the best warriors in all of Azgeda. Trained by Ontari herself at the Queen’s orders. A tight-knit group, they’re devout believers in their cause, even if they recently lost a few of their number to Wanheda.

**_Useful fools._ **

————

Cold air rustles beneath the tent flaps, icy whispers and howling gusts of wind; promises the chase of winter, the slow — insidious — freeze that latches onto the land. Avoid the winter Embrace the winter. It’s a way of life for the Azgeda people, not by choice but simply because they have no other options.

It reaches an equilibrium. Pauses.

The world waits, balanced precariously on the edge. Waits.

**_Today._ **

Ontari drains the last of the rapidly cooling stew in her bowl, the taste of salted meat not even registering as her mind focuses intensely on the day to come.

At first they hadn’t believed the rumours. Spoken by word of mouth — by commoners and traders — it had been too easy to ignore them. Rumours of a man fallen from the sky, Gonasleng and acting like a Maunon. It was laughable. Everyone knows no Maunon would have made it to the Plains.

Skaikru, perhaps, could have made it there, but they were too preoccupied fighting first the Commander’s forces, and then the Maunon themselves.

No. They had thought it nothing more than a rumour.

But then trusted messengers had come back, speaking of the talent of the man from the sky; the smoothness of his tongue and the slippery nature of his words. _“A trained Ambassador,”_ the messenger had said. And a Skaikru ambassador should not — could not — have made it that far from his people.

Queen Nia had changed her mind then and Ontari obediently agreed, silently berating the Queen for taking so long to reach the obvious decision. Scouts had been dispatched; some of the few unmarked, officially outcasts, but privately in the service of the Queen, able to go where others cannot. Able to overhear that which isn’t meant for Azgeda ears.

Told to ingratiate themselves with the man and discover his plans, they succeeded. Of course they did. Failure would have meant death.

The Queen had thought the man — Jaha, as he came to be known — to be inconsequential, useless. A curious coincidence worthy only of amused thoughts, wondering at the strength of his dedication to _live_ ; the lengths he might go to for survival.

He had surprised them. Even Ontari had been surprised at his tenacity, the nature of his plan. Admitting that had been trying, for a moment, but it’s good that they did.

She rinses out the small bowl with water from her waterskin, making sure not to spill anything. Any resource is precious. Packing up doesn’t take long. A single fur wraps around the bedroll, and her weapons never leave her side.

Pushing aside the tent-flap reveals a lazy flurry of white flakes dancing through the air. It does nothing to dampen her spirit. Today is the day. Her warriors follow her lead, disassembling their small tents and securing them to the horses.

Like the day before, snow crunches underneath the horses’ hooves. They don’t speak, don’t need to. With the target in sight, just a few hours of riding away from the village Jaha has been watching, they’re focused. The mood is expectant, already sure of the outcome.

Ontari is unable to prevent the stretch of her lips. Unable to avoid the curl and the way her upper lip lifts ever so slightly in a malicious smirk.

**_He will be useful._ **

————

Titus pales in recognition as his eyes lock on Clarke’s pulsating purple ones. Raising her brow slightly, she forces a gentle smile that absolutely doesn’t reach her eyes.

————

_“Wanheda”_

Titus’ attempt at sounding respectful isn’t bad, doesn’t seem too forced. The slight hesitation that follows his startled realisation of just who Clarke is, however, is what gives him away. It’s just long enough for Titus’ arms to move at their own accord, crossing defensively in front of this chest. Just enough for him to stand a little taller, shoulders drawn a little tighter.

His clothes — robes, really — are made from a fine cloth that Clarke doesn’t recognize, looking as soft as the furs Clarke spotted in Lexa’s tent last night. Coloured with vivid highlights, it’s clear that Titus has an important position. Even without his shaven head, Titus would stand out in any crowd like a beacon.

Ignoring him might not be the best option, but Clarke hasn’t been officially introduced yet. Isn’t supposed to trust Lexa enough to know that he’s on the Council of Elders in Polis; that he’s the Keeper of Records, part of a small group studying the history before and after the Great Flames.

Madi keeps squirming in her arms, exuding a nervous energy Clarke hasn’t seen with her before. She’s quiet, scanning the crowd and attempting to burrow deeper into Clarke’s arms at the same time.

A placid expression finds its way onto Clarke’s face as she gives the crowd a once-over, shifting her arms to hold Madi more firmly, protectively. Part of their plan had been to announce Madi’s status as a Nightblood, to make sure nobody would question Clarke’s behaviour towards her, but now Clarke is beginning to regret it.

There are hundreds of people in the square already, and more and more people come streaming down the streets and out of the houses as the news of their Commander’s — Lexa’s — return spreads like wildfire.

With so many people, so many unknowns, it’s no wonder that Madi is uncomfortable. Clarke feels it too, the phantom pinch between her shoulder blades, the desire to keep something solid — defensible — between Madi and the crowd.

Lexa notices the brewing tension the moment she looks away from Deyne and Skaikru, immediately stepping towards Titus, but making sure to not get between him and Clarke.

_“Wanheda, this is Titus, an Elder of Polis and the Keeper of Records.”_

Clarke raises an eyebrow at the introduction. Lexa didn’t mention Titus’ clan earlier, and it seems she isn’t doing so now either. It doesn’t escape her that the traditional greeting isn’t used, but Clarke doesn’t question it. It’s an opportunity she can’t ignore.

_“Well met Elder. I am Klark kom Skaikru, Wanheda.”_

Clarke recites the proper greeting, more for the crowd observing with curious eyes and what Lexa had described as loose tongues. They’re the right words, but her tone is cold, unable to fully suppress the disdain she feels for the man who wanted her dead.

His mouth opens, surprise flashing across his features, but he doesn’t give the customary response. Doesn’t welcome her to Polis as an important guest. Clarke doesn’t mind, perfectly fine being treated like a normal person, but the crowd around them _does_. It’s subtle, barely there, but she notices it all the same. The way eyes dart towards Titus expectantly, before finding Clarke again to watch her reaction.

Her smile stays overly friendly as she dismisses Titus as unimportant, though her eyes track his every movement. His eyes have fallen from Clarke, landing instead on Madi in her arms.

_“Heda?”_ Clarke tilts her head slightly, just enough to indicate the next move is Lexa’s.

At Lexa’s gesture, a group of young stable grooms rush out to take care of the travellers' horses. Clarke quietly thanks then, pleased when they don’t shy away from her gaze. She doesn’t know what she would have done if everyone feared her. When she turns back around, Titus looks even more sour than before, while Lexa looks pleased with herself.

————

The trip to the Tower passes in an uncomfortable silence as Titus decides to tag along. Perhaps it’s for the best, as keeping any distance between herself and Lexa feels like an impossible task. Clarke wants to be closer. Wants to see Lexa with a spring in her step as she shows them around Polis, voice bright and full of pride.

Clarke wants _more_.

It should scare her. Should make her pull back and question herself. She doesn’t though. Not when Lexa feels _inevitable_ , like this thing between them was always meant to happen. It’s inexplicable, that despite the anger Clarke felt at Lexa’s actions at Mt. Weather, she’s never been able to hate the girl. She _understood_ , right from the beginning, even if she didn’t want to.

Protecting your people always comes at a cost.

Letting her smile dip back into a neutral expression, Clarke keeps a keen eye on Titus’ back, but otherwise attempts to take in the city around her.

It’s so _vibrant_ , full of life and energy. It’s nothing like the military feeling of TonDC, or even the upbeat hustle of Drom. Sure strides carry them down cobblestone streets, lined with houses and alleyways. Something new peers out from every corner; a ginger and white-striped cat napping on a sun-warmed doorstep. A gaggle of children chasing down the street, followed by a shaggy looking dog.

Here, even with their Commander walking amidst them, the atmosphere remains free, joyous. Heads incline in respect as Lexa walks by. More than a few nod towards Clarke, murmuring thanks for giving long-lost loved ones peace at last; thanks she’s sure aren’t meant by any ears but their own.

The Tower of Polis is magnificent. Visible from nearly every street of Polis, all you have to do is look up. Clarke isn’t sure what she expected. None of her past Hosts went to Polis, too preoccupied with conflict and combat; death. She’s heard of it, though.

Perhaps she had expected a worn and battered skyscraper from before the bombs from, from before the Great Flames. A mostly-intact building was most certainly not what she expected. When they approached Polis, the upper floors appeared exposed, with glass and metal giving away to the concrete core. They might be, for all Clarke knows, but up close it looks pristine, all gleaming glass and polished metal.

How they’ve maintained it is a mystery Clarke itches to explore, but it’s something for another day. They’re getting closer now, the street expanding before merging into a much wider street running around the Tower base.

The crowd here reminds Clarke of Drom. Stalls line the side of the road, merchants shouting out deals for everyone to hear, while the smell of freshly baked bread wafts towards them.

There’s warriors here too, standing guard by the entrances. A small group is seen patrolling in the distance, and Clarke can’t help but wonder just how many people live in this place.

Stepping into the Tower of Polis is like stepping into another world. Less busy than the road outside, but no less imposing. Armed guards line the walls, most wearing the distinct armour Clarke has begun to associate with Lexa’s personal guard; thin leather, with pieces of metal to protect vulnerable spots, a cog — Heda’s symbol — embossed in bright red on their chests.

A few, however, wear very different armour. Colours and structures that seem so foreign among the sea of Trikru warriors, with less leather and large two-handed swords, while others still wear heavy leather and even furs, carrying axes and spears. It leaves no doubt as to Tower’s inhabitants. One and all, they look proud. Fierce. Serving their purpose here in the tower, guarding their respective ambassadors.

Madi tugs on Clarke’s arm, pointing out paintings lining the walls. Some so old the paint has started to crack, leaving little spots of whitish grey, leaving the imagination to fill in the blanks. Clarke is certain she recognizes some of the people in the portraits; famous people from before the bombs fell.

The newer ones are in much better condition, but simpler in their construction. Each of them depict a different commander in front of Polis, Clarke realises, as her eyes trail down the line from oldest to newest, watching the city change and grow over the years.

Aside from the spark of orange in their eyes, captured by artists of varying talent, Clarke struggles to recognise any of the Commanders. It’s a broken line, she realises. A false start, missing at least the First Commander.

————

Lexa leads them towards a row of lifts, waiting for the manually driven carriage to make its way down to the ground floor.

_“Our warriors use them for strength training.”_ Lexa explains, catching Clarke’s curious glance at the modified contraption. _“Much of the original structure survived the Great Flames, but we do not have the same Tek your people do. Instead, we have replaced the mechanism with manual labour.”_

Titus attempts to step into the lift with them, but Lexa stops him before he sets foot inside. _“Madi is a Nightblood.”_ A confused frown finds its place on his face. _“I am taking them to the Sanctuary.”_

_“Very well, Heda.”_ The frown falls away to resigned understanding. He throws a questioning glance at Clarke, making no move to leave.

_“She is the girl's sworn protector,”_ Lexa says, _“and she is Wanheda. She is allowed access.”_

It looks like he wants to glower and question Lexa’s judgement, but reluctantly steps away, letting the warrior manning the lift close the doors. A satisfying click sounds as the door locks. Less than an hour, and the man has already firmly entrenched himself as a nuisance in Clarke’s mind. He’s persistent and dogged in his attempts to get _his_ argument through, and seems hesitant to listen to anyone else.

_“Titus is not a Nightblood,”_ Lexa offers in explanation, _“he does not have access to our Sanctuary. Something he has always protested.”_

She sighs, leaning against the wall now that they’re out of sight. Smiles fondly at Clarke and Madi.

_“As you know, Titus is the Keeper of Records, studying our history and advising the Elders and the Commander based on that, but he’s somehow found out that us Nightbloods keep records as well. Ever since then he’s been wanting access to them, to see what we have kept secret.”_

The floor beneath them jerks, starting to slowly move upwards, and causing Madi to shriek in surprise.

_“We built this Tower, before the bombs.”_

Clarke looks up in surprise. She hadn’t known that.

_“It’s always been a Sanctuary. A safe place for my people. Somewhere to keep them safe.”_

Actually, come to think of it, Clarke had never been entrusted with the location of a Sanctuary. Hadn’t even known about them until Elenor told her a few weeks ago. There’s so much she doesn’t know.

_“Are they here?”_ Madi suddenly asks, squirming excitedly in Clarke’s arms.

_Oh right._

Letting Madi down to the ground seems to be the right move, as she immediately takes three wobbly steps, hanging on to Lexa’s leg, looking up at her and waiting for a response.

Clarke can’t help but chuckle at the sight of Lexa crouching down to be eye-height with Madi.

_“They should be. Maybe not all of them, but most should be back by now.”_ There’s no need to ask who Madi means. She has spent all morning talking their ears off about meeting the other Nightbloods; about playing and training with them.

When the doors open, they step out into a small bland corridor. Two warriors stand at attention beside a single metal door. They nod at Lexa and peer curiously at Madi who still has a hand on Lexa’s leg. They stiffen slightly at the sight of Clarke. _“Wanheda,”_ they gasp, giving her a respectful nod as well.

She isn’t sure how to react. Fear she understands, but the almost reverent way Nightbloods see her is something she might never grow used to. A respectful nod in return is what Clarke settles for. It seems to appease the two warriors.

The door swings open slowly, revealing just how thick it is. If Clarke didn’t know better, she would have mistaken it for the entrance to an underground bunker.

A few steps past the door, Madi lets go of Lexa’s leg and stops in place, staring at the wall in awe. The original colour has faded over the years, but a mural has taken its place, history told in delicate strokes and intricate detail.

Here, at the beginning, are horrendously bright Great Flames. The ones Clarke still sees — feels — in the rare nightmares of the past, causing a full-body shiver to surge through her. The Flames give away to show the ruins of a city — Philadelphia, Clarke recalls — all twisted steel, broken glass and rubble lining bloody streets. In the middle, two women are barely visible, obscured by the smoke of the Flames. Their eyes are open — glowing — one a pair of vivid purple, and other — slightly duller — stormy grey.

Clarke’s hand itches.

_Faye._

She aches to just reach out. To touch. To feel and to remember. She wants to say goodbye, to say all the things she hadn’t been prepared to admit back then. Clarke doesn’t. Pushes the bitter-sweet memories aside and blinks the tears threatening to spill away.

_“Our history,”_ Lexa starts, before Clarke has a chance to ask the burning question on her mind, _“as seen by the Nightbloods. What happened after you and the First Commander were betrayed.”_

Clarke is too shaken to look at the next part, what she knows must be the betrayal and death of the First Commander. The day Wanheda lived up to her moniker, having watched her lover die. The day Wanheda disappeared.

The next scene is the aftermath of the battle, as seen from afar, on top of a hilltop. A warrior tends to a teenage boy, wiping away the dirt and grime of war. He’s a Nightblood, judging by the colour of his wound.

_“They heard about the insurrection… Came to help.”_ Lexa’s eyes flash orange, no doubt being shown snippets of memories by Heda. Clarke hopes they’re not Faye’s. _“They were too late. The First Commander was dead, and you had disappeared.”_

_“They took the survivors back here, to heal. Heda chose one their first host a few weeks later, and Polis became their home.”_

Another voice finishes the story for Lexa, who has grown quiet and sombre. Too occupied with the memories, none of them have noticed the new addition to the group. A young blonde boy, barely in his teens by Clarke’s estimate. He looks at the mural with sorrowful eyes.

_“Hi, I’m Aden.”_

————

Lexa turns, able to hear Titus’ tight footsteps as he travels down the corridor towards her personal rooms. Each step is so precise, measured. He’s angry. Then again, with how Lexa has been avoiding spending any time with him since ordering the assassin be taken to the Healers, it’s no wonder Titus has been working himself up.

He’s useful; knows Polis and its inhabitants well. Knows the history of the clans perhaps better than Lexa herself, but he’s too single-minded in his focus. Well-meaning in his intentions, but endlessly frustrating to work with.

Lexa doesn’t have time to speak with him now. She left Clarke and Madi with Aden, promising that she would see them later. Clarke knows why, but neither Aden nor Madi needs to know what Lexa needs to do. She would much rather spend time with them, but as Commander, duty always calls.

_Titus doesn’t know she survived._

Lexa isn’t sure why she hasn’t told him. Truth be told, it had been pure instinct at the time. Once the healers had taken the assassin to be treated, one of Lexa’s maidens had gone with orders to fake the assassin’s death. Amidst the small fanfare her and Ryder’s abrupt trip to TonDC had generated, Lexa’s personal healer managed to sneak the assassin into one of her private rooms in the tower, inaccessible to anyone but Lexa’s most trusted staff.

Staff which does not include Titus.

Lexa paces the room. She’s been preparing herself for what to do, and she won’t have Titus change her mind. Before he has a chance to knock on the door, Lexa pulls it open and strides through.

_“Walk with me, Titus.”_

She listens attentively as he briefs her on the preparations for the arrival of the clan leaders. Most are here already, with Blue Cliff, the Plains Riders and Azgeda still to arrive. It’s to be expected, with those clans having the furthest to travel, and thus the least notice to her summons. An unfortunate hassle when dealing with the Coalition at large.

He pauses momentarily as he tells her of the guards assigned to protect Skaikru, a considering expression flickering across his face.

_“She truly is Wanheda, isn’t she?”_

He doesn’t have to ask. He met Clarke himself, and though her eyes had been hard to see in the bright autumn sun, the dim light inside the Tower had been more than enough for him to be certain. Lexa nods sharply. Titus can either accept it or deal with her.

_“Then I apologise, Heda, for my words before you left for TonDC. I thought the rumours to be of an imposter, unworthy of the title”_

He doesn’t sound sorry, but then Titus has always been good at disguising his true feelings. It’s a good sign, nonetheless, that he will be more careful around Clarke. Lexa has learned to trust actions more than words, however, so she will be keeping a keen eye on him.

“Titus.” She nods in farewell, having led them to the stairwell, knowing well that Titus has other duties to see to now that her briefing is done, not to mention Lexa herself has things to do.

Her personal rooms are separated across multiple floors. One floor with public access, where the throne room is, and where Lexa can entertain guests when necessary. Nobody else lives here, and truth be told, neither does Lexa. She prefers the private floor above the Nightblood floors, where she can have true privacy.

She strides down yet another corridor, footsteps echoing in the silence. Lexa schools her expression— her emotions. This won’t be pretty. It isn’t something she wants to do, not when memories of _that_ day still haunts her nights with broken screams and pleas for mercy. Lexa has seen much in her short life; has taken part in actions both wonderful and horrid, and yet this is a memory that haunts her nearly as much as finding Costia’s head in her bed. Nearly as much as the thought of what could have happened to her people if Clarke hadn’t felled the Maunon.

Ryder waits for her outside the room, standing at attention beside his Seken, Agir. Nothing about this is ordinary. Prisoners aren’t supposed to be kept this high in the tower; aren’t supposed to enjoy the hospitality of Heda’s personal floor.

_“Has she spoken yet?”_ Lexa asks, knowing that the answer won’t have changed since the last time.

_“No, Heda.”_

She steps into the room, Ryder at her back. The assassin lies strapped to a table, pale and thinner than Lexa remembers, but alive.

**_For now._ **

Good. She needs the anger to fuel her through this. It’s the only way she’ll survive the memories being brought to the forefront.

————

Monty longs to go with Clarke, to be there for her. The pressure on her shoulders must be intense, and he just _knows_ that Lexa and Clarke must have some crazy plan cooked up. Clarke didn’t say anything when she came back last night, but the smile on her face had said more than enough.

With how distant they’ve been today, with how formal Lexa — and how weird is it to be on a first-name basis with the Commander — has been, there must be something important going on.

For now though, being led through Polis by Deyne, Monty has other things on his mind. Like how Polis is _massive_. Who knew the Coalition even had this many people? Granted, it’s the capital of the entire coalition, but still?

It’s more modern than expected too. Somehow, the image of Grounders in rough leather, wearing warpaint and living out of tents hasn’t shaken itself from his mind. The ramshackle construction of the TonDC outpost had been the first construction they saw. Despite living in TonDC proper for a few weeks, it’s still hard to shake.

The buildings around them might be worn and well-used, but they’re still a mix of old and new. The tools and infrastructure required to build and maintain a city like this.. Safe to say that Monty is, once again, pleasantly surprised. Every glance holds new and surprising details, like the lack of wells for fresh water. The lack of any smell.

They must have running water; sewerage. It’s the only explanation that makes a shred of sense. Peering over his shoulders, Monty takes in the way their group — the remains of Skaikru — all have the same wondrous expression, none of them even attempting to hide it.

“You must be proud of what you’ve built here, this is amazing.” Kane says.

Deyne chuckles, eyes glancing across the travel-weary group. “We are. Polis is the crown of the Coalition. Each clan has their own capitals of course, but Polis has a little bit of each clan too.”

It hasn’t been long since they left Clarke and Madi behind, and with every step the Tower looms ever closer above them. That’s not where they’re going though, turning down another street, leaving the Tower off to the side, and crossing a district line.

“There have not always been twelve clans in the Coalition. Before, it was a collection of individual alliances and trade agreements. This district was set aside for diplomatic missions, guaranteeing the safety of its inhabitants for their stay, by word of Heda. It has seen little use since Heda Lexa united the clans.”

Deyne has turned around to address their group, holding her arms out in welcome.

“With the Nomads in the far Plains and other groups even further away, like from the sky,” she smirks, “we have kept this small district maintained. And this house will be yours to use until your status in the Coalition has been resolved.” Her hands sweep towards a large three-story building.

————

Leaving their new lodgings behind is difficult. Monty longs to throw himself onto the bed he’s claimed for himself; can’t wait for the moment he can let the heaviness in his limbs pull him into the soft hay-filled mattress.

It’s difficult, but not knowing what’s happening with Raven is more important.

Stepping outside, Monty finds a group of warriors standing guard by the district line. Actually, looking down the street, there are guards stationed by every crossing into the district.

When they make no move to stop him, Monty steps past them, noticing absently one of the warriors with a red cog on their clothes following him. He thinks nothing of it, too used to the behaviour from TonDC.

Finding Raven, however, is more difficult than first anticipated. Somehow, locating the hospital that Nyko had mentioned is a task Monty has no idea how to approach. There’s no map and he has no description of what it looks like.

“You are looking for your friend, yes?” The guard that’s been following Monty speaks up, jostling Monty from his thoughts in the middle of the street.

“This way.”

She turns back around, towards the diplomatic district, but passes by the entrance. They make the next right turn, coming out on a wide street with a collection of tall buildings around them and the Tower up towards the other end.

A simple five minute walk from the diplomatic district, and Monty has already been walking around for nearly an hour. Typical. With the guard’s help, it’s just a matter of asking for the location of Nyko and his patients.

They’re walking down a hallway of the narrow building when Raven’s sharp voice rings out.

“I am not a little bird! My name is Raven!”

Anya’s laughter follows a second later. “Whatever you say, _strik sora_ (little bird)”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh I’m sorry about the delay on this chapter!  
> Work was crazy last week, and the chapter itself was quite difficult to get right. With the different points of view it was a challenge to not reveal too much too soon, but I’m quite pleased with how it’s turned out.
> 
> What do you think about the change in origin for Polis and the Tower? :0


	35. Ch 35 - An eye for an eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa begins the interrogation. 
> 
> **Trigger Warning: Mention of torture and execution methods.**

“I am not a little bird! My name is Raven!”

Anya’s laughter follows a second later. “Whatever you say, strik sora (little bird)”

————

Monty’s pace slows a little at the outburst, feeling a smile creeping up on him. It’s been a while since he’s heard Raven like this. Annoyed, but oddly pleased at the attention. Raven fails to come up with a retort, and Monty can easily imagine her surprised face; mouth moving, but making no sound.

The silence stretches on, and there’s no way Anya doesn’t know he’s there. There’s no need for Monty to hide, either. Letting the smile run free, Monty takes the last few steps and leans against the open door, taking in the sight before him.

“Monty!” Raven exclaims, sounding far more pleading than he thinks she intended. “You have to help me out of here!”

Raven’s aggrieved glare at Anya might have carried more weight if she wasn’t tucked safely into her bed, resting against the headboard. Her arm wavers as she attempts to keep her eyes and finger in sync, pointing out Anya as the source of all evil. Monty settles on Raven’s bed, examining his friend’s features.

“How much did they give her?” Monty asks, directing his question at Anya, while pointing at the sweet-smelling wooden mug beside Raven’s bed. Anya makes a face, somewhere in between excited and incredibly annoyed.

“Montyyyyy—”

“Not enough to knock her out,” Anya deadpans.

Grinning a little at the sight of Raven, her dilated eyes and the trembling pout, Monty can’t help himself. It’s nice not to be on the receiving end for once, and Raven had made sure to get a few snarky comments in after Nyko had plied Monty with painkillers back in TonDC.

“You know, you do look a little bird-like right now.”

Monty lets his laughter free. Feels the light — warm — atmosphere. Raven quickly stops sulking and Monty shuffles closer to give her a one-armed hug, mindful of her still-healing wounds.

It’s nice, comfortable, despite the friendly ribbing. Nice to not constantly look over their shoulders, wondering if today is the day Abby sends guards to TonDC to find them.

Getting to Polis is a weight off everyone’s shoulders, visible in the way Raven is actually relaxing, rather than fighting the drugs to stay aware. The way Anya seems comfortable and slightly more in her element, a glint in her eyes that screams dedication.

They spend a while catching up, with Monty and Anya leading the discussion as Raven fights the medicine to stay awake. They had travelled together on one of the flatbed wagons, while Monty had drifted between groups, speaking with Jasper and Harper, and occasionally looking after Madi.

Anya and Raven had reached an agreement, partly to distract the other from the inevitable pain of the long trip, and partly to survive each other. Raven proudly whispers a few sentences of newly-taught Trig, almost asleep. In turn, Monty is slightly horrified at the way Anya is practically vibrating as she recites Raven’s promise to show her how to make explosives.

“If I cannot have my bridge back, I need to know how to destroy them.”

Anya’s smile is near manic. Monty’s eyes land on the mug beside her bed, identical to the one by Raven’s.

_ They’re both high. Wonderful. _

————

The assassin stares unflinchingly at the ceiling, refusing to acknowledge their presence in the room. To the untrained eye, it might seem as if she hasn’t even noticed them, but Lexa knows better.

As they stepped through the door, Lexa’s keen eyes caught the last motion of the assassin’s throat bobbing slightly. She notices the way the assassin’s breathing stays the same, subdued and calm, but in the well-lit room it’s clear that her pulse has picked up.

She knows Lexa and Ryder are there. Still, not a word out of her. Even her name is a mystery. The Azgeda delegation seems to have known her by multiple different names, and even if Lexa believed them, there’s no way she could ever trust their information in a case like this.

Not when the assassin attempted to stop information from leaking about the warriors that attacked Madi’s family, the group of healer’s apprentices from Rappahan, and several other small groups.

If Clarke’s suspicions are correct… If they were after Nightbloods? It’s a terrible thought, but one Lexa cannot ignore.

_ “So, hemlock,”  _ Lexa begins, straining to affect a bored tone, _ “not exactly a pleasant way to die.” _

Lexa peers down at the bound assassin, taking in her pallid face and sunken features. She’s been well-fed, all in an attempt to keep her alive for Lexa to have a chance to interrogate her. A chance for the truth. Still, death seems to have come very close for the Azgeda traitor.

_ “I suppose that this is what happens when the healers have to help you breathe for two days, while you lie paralysed.” _

Voice decidedly frosty, Lexa paces lightly. Not so fast as to be agitated, but enough to come across as considering, thoughtful.

_ “Your people think you dead. Your delegation was refused the right to a ceremonial pyre. Traitors have no right to a good death, as you well know.” _

It’s stated as the fact it is. Lexa is well aware that the assassin knows she has a death sentence looming in the near future. Lexa lets her mind travel back to that day in the throne room, when the knife had flown across the room and buried itself in the neck of the Azgeda ambassador. It could so easily have been anyone else, and with a blade coated in poison..

_ “She will win!” _ She murmurs, reciting the words spoken that day, both to herself and the prisoner tied to the table. There’s no reaction. No dilation of the warrior’s eyes. No twitch to give her away.

**_She has been trained well._ **

Unfortunately, Lexa has to agree with Heda. Whatever her name, the assassin clearly has been well-trained. What little Lexa has been able to gleam has been from her appearance; her ritual scars and her equipment. She’s clearly Azgeda, but bears none of the usual marks of those close to Queen Nia. No marks of banishment. A simple mark designating her as a warrior runs down her brow, enough to be assigned as a guard to the Ambassador, but nothing to give away her true purpose.

Lexa sighs. This must have been planned for some time, for Nia to find unmarked people to train. People who will have a harder time in Azgeda without the awe and respect granted by marks of rank, but at the same time will have a far easier time blending into other clans as simple warriors.

Lexa’s hand finds the dagger at her side. Prepares herself.

_ Jus drein jus daun. _

It’s still the way of her people. Still something Lexa believes in. Torture, however, is not justice. It is barbaric, useless. Serves no purpose. Countless records and experience tells her no useful information is rarely gotten by force.

Intimidation, however, is something Lexa has embraced throughout her life, using it as a shield to protect herself. Anya had seen Lexa’s potential. Had taken it, shaped it and honed it, until Lexa felt like her words and actions could cut as deeply as her sharpened swords.

Twirling the dagger, Lexa is happy to have it's reassuring weight in her hand. A perfect replica of the one she had given Clarke so long ago.

_ “You see, my patience has been worn thin. Your people attacked one of my Nightbloods.” _

The dagger slams into the table, a hair’s breadth from the assassin’s face, Wanheda’s mark prominently visible. That seems to get a reaction out of the assassin, a ripple coursing through her, eyes locked on the symbol.

_ “A Nightblood, who has since been taken under Wanheda’s protection.” _

Lexa easily pulls the dagger free of the wooden surface, holding out a hand. A clean cloth lands in it, faintly smelling of alcohol. Swiftly, Lexa wipes the blade clean, handing the cloth back. Then, she brings the dagger to her hand, the part she’s been dreading.

It’s sharp, at least, and she barely feels the sting of metal as it bites into her palm, leaving a thin — shallow — cut behind. Enough for a few drops of black blood to lazily pool at the bottom of her now curled hand.

There’s fear in the assassin’s eyes. This isn’t what she had expected.

_ “Wamplei kom sheidjus,”  _ Lexa intones.

Death by Nightblood. An ancient method of execution of those that specifically targeted Nightbloods. An eye for an eye. A method of execution Lexa had outlawed the moment she became Commander. She has no intention of killing the assassin. Not yet, and not this way, but the assassin doesn’t need to know that.

A drop of black blood lands on the table.

The prisoner jerks. Strains against her bonds, instinctively attempting to get away.

Another drop, closer this time. Her eyes finally move from their fixed stare at the ceiling, moving to find Lexa’s. They’re wide, fearful, as they take in Lexa’s blazing orange.

_ “Talk, and I will make it quick.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very short chapter this week. Had wanted to make it a fair bit longer, but the scene with Lexa and the assassin took ageeees to get right, and then it didn’t fit with the rest. Rather than go back and re-write it for next weekend, I wanted you to have this for now. :)
> 
> **EDIT (31-01-2021):** I’ll be taking a small hiatus from publishing chapters for Wanheda Awakens to allow me to work ahead and build up a bit of a buffer.  
> Been struggling with the current chapter, and realised I need to clarify something happening a few chapters from now first, so I’ll work my way back :)
> 
> Hopefully back to normal again in a couple weeks.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to reach out on either [Tumblr](https://non-euclidean-feels.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/NoEuclideanFeel) if you want to chat about this story. I'll be sure to post there if there's any ever delays to my posting schedule, as I don't like posting A/N only chapters :)


End file.
